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lizzieraindrops · 1 year ago

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Ikora/Eris (regular or hive flavor) throne world exploration, and/or discussion of hive magic and void light - playing with the idea that void is/was considered dangerous and difficult to wield

this prompt fill got combined with some other things I had going and turned into Chapter 2 of Presence and Absence! thank you for such a thought-provoking idea. enjoy!

Presence and Absence - Chapter 2 (2533 words)

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

Endless vibrant wetlands encircled Savathûn's castle-city in her throne world. Lush vegetation coated the rises. Water filled the valleys, moving too quickly to stagnate, yet too slowly to prevent prodigious blooms of Traveler knew what kinds of algae, bacteria, or other unclassifiable microorganisms.

Few of the Lucent brood bothered Ikora and Eris as the two of them picked their way along the high ground. A distant acolyte did fire one inquisitive shot, but the Void soul Ikora flung in the direction of its patrol squad quickly drained them all of existence. Their forms folded out of this and every reality as neatly as if they had never been. After that, the two humans were well left alone.

The energy her Void had consumed flowed back to Ikora, renewing her connection to it. With some discomfort, Ikora wondered if this felt anything like the tithes Eris had—until very recently—been taking for the past several months.

If so, Eris had walked away from a power that came as naturally to her as a Lightbearer's Light, after she herself had been long bereft of it. No one could deny that she had excelled at the sword logic, once she was the hand behind the blade rather than the throat beneath its edge. Elsie had been right about one thing: the smile that danced in Eris' voice. She had enjoyed this.

It was Ikora's job to worry about such things. And she had, of course, even while defending Eris to anyone who would listen and many who wouldn't. She had never been so profoundly afraid that she would finally lose Eris to her quest for revenge. How could she not, when Eris had become Vengeance itself?

But Eris' strength of character had put Ikora and all her necessary doubts to shame. Now Eris walked by her side lighter than ever: freed from both the shackles with which Savathûn had bid her bind herself, and from the burden of the task she had claimed long ago. She would never be free of what the Hive had done to her—what she had done to herself because of them. But she had proved, to herself and the entire world, that she was far more than just that.

Conflicting emotions knotted tight in Ikora's chest in a complicated snarl. With the intent of soothing it, she dropped her mind into the clear focus required by the Void and called up another Void soul. She did not activate it. She cupped it spinning between her hands for a moment, as if caught in the eddy of a current. Then she released it to orbit about her head like a little ringed moon.

Breaking the silence that had held them since their arrival, Eris spoke. "Your mastery of the Void is...exquisite," she said. As she spoke, she easily kept pace with Ikora’s longer stride, even fully armored once more.

Mild surprise seeped through Ikora, more at her own reaction than Eris' words. She had thought herself long past the point of being affected by flattery regarding her chosen, primal element. As Vanguard, she knew precisely to what degree she was the most competent and effective channeller of the Void currently in existence, at least as a Warlock. Ikora saw no purpose in comparing herself to past Guardians, not least because there was no accurate way to measure such things. On the other hand, Chalco always said to stop being so humble and admit that even then she was quite likely the best, period.

So why did Eris' simple yet genuine praise warm Ikora's cheeks?

"You never were that fond of Void, were you?" Ikora asked. A deflection.

A rueful smile flickered across Eris' lips. She shook her head. "I was always too impatient for its gravity. Perhaps now, after everything, I would be able to hold it differently. But alas, we shall never know.

"Arc called me to run as quickly as I desired. Then it bade me go even faster." Her smile returned sharp-toothed with the memory. She grinned at Ikora. "I could once Blink faster and farther than even you."

Ikora's eyebrows shot upward. "Oh, is that so?" she returned. "You're lucky you never told me that back when we hunted Ahamkara together. Otherwise I would have insisted that you prove it."

The sound of Eris' responding laugh was quiet. Yet it pealed and rang within Ikora as if her body were a bell of finest bronze tuned to its exact frequency. Hearing that unexpected mirth on the rarest of occasions, gradually more often in these last few years...it grew hope in her like a garden. If Eris Morn could laugh again, then even the greatest challenges of their era might yet diverge from their dire straits.

Violet unraveled into indifferent indigo as Ikora's Void soul decomposed into a more typical absence. The two women paused atop a tall bluff overlooking both the Miasma and the Quagmire. The green sky was brilliant and inscrutable with clouds and unknown celestial bodies that did not truly exist. The blunt Pyramid bleeding resonant burnt orange lay in the depths of the swamp like the antithesis of the Lucent city's lofty spires.

"It's funny, isn't it," Ikora mused. "For so long, we thought of Void as the most difficult, the most dangerous element to wield: the most prone to confuse, to corrupt. But you went on to learn to wield far more dangerous powers without falling."

Eris tilted her head back and forth. "Mmm. It is difficult to compare such things now to my previous lives. The powers I have claimed have been more unfamiliar, yes. Perhaps, from such a perspective, that is the same thing."

Ikora acknowledged her point with a yielding gesture of her hand. They began descending the other side of the bluff, following its sheer edge.

"Then again," Eris continued, "I cannot deny that the Hive's preoccupation with the sword logic does indeed make missteps in their spells more likely to be...costly."

Ikora was confident that her face did not betray an echo of her concern regarding the particular immense spell Eris had been casting for the past few months. It was over; Eris was still here. Nonetheless, a twinge of residual unease echoing from the memory of such deep fear unsettled her stomach. "That makes a certain amount of sense."

The two of them stopped again on a low rise of overgrown earth near the water line. Thick-trunked trees and crumbling spires studded the marshland. It was never silent here, where a hundred unknown small creatures flew and buzzed and swam and sloshed and grumbled and fed and grew and died. Some were unlike anything Ikora had ever encountered, even in the outer reaches of Sol’s system. Ikora wondered if any of them were resurrected memories from old Fundament, dredged from the witch queen's oldest recollections.

In the distance, a Lightbearer knight summoned twin Void shields with a resounding roar and flung one after another at a Scorn ravager brandishing a lantern full of sublimating ice.

"I wonder how the Lucent brood interprets the Void. They reject Stasis, yet despite the Void's similarity to it, they don't seem to have trouble using it. Although that may be because we only meet the competent in combat. How does the Hive's distinct concept of death influence their relationship with the ultimate paracausal expression of absence?"

Eris listened to the monologue of Ikora's thoughts as attentively as ever. She was so easy to talk to in some ways, so difficult in so many others. For the moment, Ikora opted to continue in this easier vein.

"Sometimes I still have to warn new Guardians not to get drawn in too deep by that vortex. Even though there are far more dangerous tools at their fingertips these days, it's still a little easier than I'd like to become lost in it. Perhaps, as a civilization on the brink of death, it is the echo of the Collapse that lives in us."

"That may be. But I think it more likely that such risk is the nature of any power."

"Perhaps. Or maybe, as you mentioned, it is more a question of...perspective."

Gently, Ikora reached into thin air and slipped her hand into the Weave.

"Oh!" Strand immediately coiled up her wrist and forearm like an excessively friendly colubrid. "It's very close to the surface here. It tends to be more challenging to summon this far away from Neomuna and the Veil."

"Hmm." Eris stepped closer, peering at it with eyes that were a slightly yellower and more luminescent shade of green. "Savathûn's throne world rests deeper in the Ascendant Plane than our own. And it is, by her own personal design, a realm that embodies thought and consciousness. Perhaps that is why."

"I suspect you are right."

"I did not expect to see you wield Darkness."

No trace of accusation tainted Eris' tone, but inwardly, Ikora flinched anyway. The advent of Stasis had precipitated one of the longest silences between them yet. Ikora had let Eris' letter regarding it go unanswered for so many months. She still hadn't replied, in truth. But hopefully, after everything—after supporting Eris through her ascension to dark godhood, however brief—hopefully, she knew that Ikora did not judge her. She never had. But the Eris who had survived the Hellmouth had always taken judgement in stride more easily than concern.

Ikora gathered a bundle of Strand like a handful of living green fronds. "I did not expect to, either," was all she said. She did not mention anything about how different Strand seemed from Stasis, nor about the intricacies of her mixed feelings toward either element. For now, she let it go.

She took pains to keep her grip gentle and nonurgent on the green fibers, lest they snap or ensnare her. Strand ran like a segment of an otherwise unseen river over the horizontal surfaces of her palms, vanishing as smoothly as it appeared. Then she lifted it up to chest height and held it out to Eris like a peace offering. As far as she knew, Eris had not yet had an opportunity to assess this newest emanation of the Darkness. Among so, so many other things these days, they had not yet discussed it.

"Here," Ikora said. "Careful, though."

With another step closer, Eris skimmed the surface of the spun emerald with the fingertips of one hand. Even before she touched it, it reacted to her with a ripple. Of course it was affected by perception; it was the essence of consciousness itself.

Eris stood only a pace away, hands floating like leaves above the riverbed of Ikora's palms. Channeling Strand as she was, Ikora felt the closeness of another being more intensely than usual. Eris was a ponderous presence in the Weave, a remarkably powerful conflux of catalytic intention, coiling recursively upon herself in unpredictable ways. Ever the Hunter, she was adaptive in the extreme. She was near impossible to pin down, even for Ikora, who had refined prediction to a paracausal art of probabilities with her Light.

Without moving or withdrawing from the magnetic parallel of their palms, Eris looked up.

Her eyes met Ikora's in a moment that rang like a soundless bell. Different threads of verdant potential cast themselves invisibly about their forms. She was very close.

The knowledge that Eris would kiss her if Ikora leaned in dropped into her mind like a plumb line, direct and true.

A few threads of the Strand in her hands snapped like static discharge. They both jumped back. Ikora dropped the ropy bundle back into the Weave and shook out her stung fingers. With the same alacrity, she leapt forward again to ascertain that Eris was unhurt.

"Eris! Are you alright? Sometimes it throws unraveling needles when it snaps. Did any hit you?"

A distinct lack of concern kept Eris' voice smooth as she said, "Only one." She lifted her hand up to eye level to peer at the tiny green needle embedded in her glove. "How curious." She plucked it out with ease and tossed it away as if it were a mere wooden splinter. Before it could hit the ground, it had vanished whence it came.

Ikora grabbed the hand that had been struck and examined it herself. Impossibly, paracausally sharp as it was, the needle had left a pinhole in even the tough chitin of Eris' gauntlet, as clean and perfectly round as if an awl had punched through paper.

"Did it pierce the armor?"

"Only by the smallest amount. Even so, it–"

Ikora had already thrown a healing rift about the two of them.

"Ikora." The annoyance in Eris' voice was balanced with something softer, something perhaps almost fond. "I am, as I know that you know, now, not so fragile. I have had papercuts far worse."

"That isn't the point." Ikora scowled at the pinhole and rubbed at the spot with a thumb.

"Then what is?"

Ikora looked up to answer and found Eris, once again, very close. Closer than comfort would condone, if Ikora were honest with herself. But she had not lived this long, had not become Warlock Vanguard—had not become Ikora Rey—by letting her fears make her back down, back away. She held her ground, and spoke a truth.

"I don't want to hurt you, Eris. No matter how little."

Eris did not retreat, either. She held Ikora's gaze with all the intensity of the soulfire that animated her pupil-less eyes. Her reply came as the softest possible utterance. "Then what do you want?"

"I—ah..." What did she want? It was not a question she often gave thought to, other than the larger-than-life calling to see the remains of humanity preserved and protected; the need to see Eris safe. Furthermore, it was difficult to devote thought to the matter now, with Eris so close, hand still in hers. It only reminded her of the unexpected knowledge that had startled Ikora enough to make this whole scene in the first place.

Eris lifted the hand that Ikora was not holding. It hovered in the space between them, and for a moment, Ikora thought that it would touch her cheek. Her eyes widened. But then Eris lowered it to their clasped hands and gently squeezed.

The rift centered on them collapsed in a puff of humid air.

"Perhaps we might...continue this conversation elsewhere," Eris said, releasing her and stepping back on the damp grass. "Think on your answer. I am curious to know it."

Ikora shook her head to clear it. "Of course," she said, not quite knowing what she meant. But she could not imagine denying Eris an answer. Not now. Not after everything they had been through together. Not less than a week after the fear of losing Eris had shaken her to her core, more deeply than ever before. "Have you found what you were looking for?"

Eris smiled at her. An actual smile, small but unmistakable. Undeniable. "I do believe I have."

They took a last long look over the vast plane of the seething wetlands, then left that gleaming conscious world behind.

#ikora rey #eris morn #erikora #eris/ikora #ikoris #destiny 2 #destiny 2 fanfiction #season of the witch #destiny strand #lizzie's adventures in writing #lizzie taking up space #fic #long post #synnthamonsugar #write about ikora long enough and your fic will turn into a philosophy dissertation jflkdsa;skdlfd #this prompt has been living in my head and inbox for MONTHS.#delighted to finally share with you all as im quite proud of it.

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omni-writes-stuff · 7 months ago

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𐌰 loved their questions. It had been so long since they had met a species so curious. Granted, there were few sentient sentient species on this side of the multiverse. 𐌰 was worried that they'd spend another eon cataloguing single-celled organisms or completely dead rocks. There were two humans before them, both possessing the names of Agent Rivers and Agent Branton. One was taller than the other by 1 igrik. The little hair that they had on their bodies were styled the same, differing only in colour: blue for one - lighter than their skin, dark greelple for for the other. "Right," said Rivers, a little paler than usual, "So let me get this straight. You're saying there are hundreds of aliens out there?" "There's not a word in your human language to describe the true number of sentient species in the world." "Dear God..." 𐌰 's "hula-hoop halos" -as the humans called them, such wonderful names- flickered brighter in excitement "On the topic of God, I have been doing some research into your creation myths. I have reason to believe that multiple entities have been visiting your world." "So aliens did make the pyramids..." "Actually that was all human ingenuity. It's all quite extraordinary-"

Branton cut in, "We might be aware of some of those entities. Do you know what their deal was?" 𐌰 thought for a moment, "The best way to describe it in your terms, was that they liked to play god. What better place to test their prowess in this lonely corner of the multiverse? You'd still be simple microorganisms were it not for their meddling." The humans looked at each other for a moment then back at 𐌰. From the looks of their faces and the sustained silence, 𐌰 concluded that they were still in the process of coming to terms with that information. Branton was the first to break the silence, "So, what about the Greys and the other entities that we've seen?" 𐌰 's feelers lifted into a smile, "I'm glad you asked." A few minutes later, they almost wished they hadn't asked.

An organisation believes they have captured an interdimensional traveller. In reality, they could leave at any point, but they sit through it because the “interrogations” are the most fun they’ve had in eons.

#warm up #sketch

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nidhi-psa · 2 months ago

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BLOG 1, EPISODE 6,

NOVEMBER 20TH 2024,

To be a night bird

So for the first time. I decided to pick up a night shift to experience it, to be honest with you I was more excited to see how beautiful the airport looks at night with all the city lights and I'll tell you right now I wasn't disappointed. I did notice though that even though we are doing the exact same things in a night shift, it is alot lot busier , a lot more crowded. I was at the kiosk position for my night shift and time passed very fast because there wasn't a moment when i wasn't attending to a passenger, I don't know how to say it but people have a different glow on them once the sun goes down, people were a lot more calmer even though it was chaos. And something else I noticed is that you do feel a sense of fulfilment when you finish a night shift. There's just something about it.

Here's a little view on how it felt to be there at night l.

BLOG 1, EPISODE 7,

NOVEMBER 25TH 2024,

"To communicate through silence is a link between the thoughts of a man"- Marcel Marceau

TO BE LINKED WITH A FEELING

Hello , welcome back to my blog

I wanna introduce to you my favourite part of Toronto Pearson International airport and that is the one and only link train and so the pun was intented on the quote and heading

Isn't it crazy how we love on a floating ball in the middle of nowhere and we are literally microorganisms in this universe , everything I sit on the link train from terminal 1 to terminal 3 or buse versa. I feel unreal. Like what do you mean I'm sitting on a train that is in the air with no one driving it ? Isn't tjay crazy to think about

I want to show you a little clip of the view I took from the link train on my first night shift, it's beautiful and this video reminds me how there is 8 billion of us and we are all somehow interlinked

Isn't she lovely... ?

BLOG 1, EPISODE 8,

December 1st 2024,

Hello welcome back , today I'm going to talk a little about my favorite task to do working at cathay and I chose this task because it has taught me alot and introduced me to alot of new experiences and people, and this task is KIOSK , I absolutely love working kiosk , every morning during out briefings when we are viewing schedules I'm hoping I'm at kiosk. So thank you kiosk for all the new things you've taught me and all the positive experiences I have had.

BLOG 1, EPISODE 9,

DECEMBER 5th 2024,

Hello everyone, it's me again!

I have to say that it has been hitting me now that I'm coming towards the end of the placement how much I'm really going to miss this,

Working as a team, solving issues, kiosk, SSBD, Queue. Counters, briefings, everything that I possibly could have done during the placement, it's really been an incredible journey and I really wish life gives me another opportunity like this because I'm going to miss it like crazy

I never got a chance to get my RAIC during my placement but um still very very grateful for everything I've been able to do and for every passenger that I have met and been able to help. Here are a few pictures because we are moving closer to the end of the placement and the start of a very beautiful and blessed Christmas. I hope you enjoy .

BLOG 1, EPISODE 10,

DECEMBER 6TH 2024,

You will never change your life until you change something that you do daily , the secret to your success is found in your daily routine. -John C maxwell

Hello ... it's me again.

First of all I want to say thank you to those of you who have followed this blog since episode 1, it actually has been a great honor to be blessed enough to have an opportunity that I can write about everyday,

This placement has taught me a lot, and when I say that I don't mean only educationally, I mean emotionally and mentally too. Thank you so much, Cathay Pacific, for everything I have learnt and felt during this placement , every emotion and every skill , every good experience, and every connection I made . I will forever be grateful as without you, I would have achieved none of this. Thank you to seneca College for going out of their way to make their students achieve experience and learn better . I will forever miss you, Cathay . I love you, and thank you . I will forever be grateful.

One day I will see you again , somewhere. On a flight , on a vacation , in a dream , in another lifetime . Good bye .

Yours truly,

Nidhi. Mistry

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rivet77 · 1 year ago

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My mind is an old cathedral on a hill, abandoned, and slowly crumbling. With walls that reach to the night sky, and refract every little sound into a million little echoes. The roof, torn off by the same hands which constructed it long ago, leaving all the stars and planets I’ll never reach as a reminder of the roof that once kept the echoes inside. Maybe I had imagined the roof was there. Had fabricated it with my own fear of the expanse, afraid that my wildest, most vulnerable thoughts would bounce beyond my reach. That they might fall on the ears of some distant star-god who’d open doors that would never have been opened otherwise. Doors which can’t be closed. Doors I may well never see.

Sometimes, the echoes are just too loud, reflecting off the stone walls and stained glass like bullets of self-loathing. Voices like that of the horde, though it’s only ever been me in this astral well. Still, I can’t bear the cacophony; I’d shutter the windows, plug my ears, pray for rain. I try to let them go, when I can. It takes practice, but when striking that balance the silence is more blissful than you could ever imagine. The sort you only find in crypts, twilit forests, empty gymnasiums, abandoned factories. The heavy cloak of the abyss. Here, I can sit at the altar and gaze upward for eternity; hairs standing on end, and the tingle of divinity trickling from my crown.

The silence isn’t always a comfort.

Nobody dwells in this cathedral but me, yet… there are *things* outside. Most are people, I assume, shouting from the outside in, telling me what to do, where to go, how wonderful it is. Others are… *me.* At least, a version of me. Begging to be let inside. But every so often… when I’m least expecting it, when I think to ask, bring a trembling hand up to knock, and peer through the pinhole. *I see it.* Staring back. And in that perpetual instant, I’m consumed by moments I’ll never know, realities I’ll never see, experiences I’ll never have. Possibilities unfulfilled, certainty I’ll never possess. In that moment, all that I am and all that I could be is concentrated into the iris of an entity I am a mere cell of. A microorganism who forgot. All I needed was a reminder, a glimpse to sober me up, to bring me just a bit closer to the edge. Trembling, heart racing.

I’ll never know. *Never.*

Does it scare me? In an endless warehouse without walls, drenched in inky blackness, yes. I would be afraid. Of stubbing my foot, of a gunman with night vision goggles, of falling in, of the End of Everything; whether it’s true or not. But sometimes, that which waits in the dark is worth stumbling upon. Sometimes, the eye gazes at me with warmth, a look of comfort. I see it in the eyes of the kind stranger, saving a space by the fire, in the eyes of those who peer through the cracks in who I am, sharing in my wonder and terror in equal measure. Reminding me that which I don’t know is what makes life compelling, worth living.

So while the walls of this cathedral stand, I will sing. I will knock. I will ask. I am the echo, as I ever will be. Until I'm not, until I am, again and again.

#prose #writing #writer #queer writer #existential #cosmic horror #existential terror #ominous positivity #rant #thoughts

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voltstone · 1 year ago

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toxin (Suakko Fanfiction) [M]

[toxin] - an antigenic poison or venom of plant or animal origin, especially one produced by or derived from microorganisms and causing disease when present at low concentration in the body.

A definition, which, Sucy knows well. It's why she doesn't have a heart, nor any sense for what compassion can bring. Although, one night changes things, and maybe—just maybe—Akko proves Sucy otherwise.

[10,216 Words] | [Last Edit: 6/4/2021] (Full One-Shot Post) !Mature Content! sucy and akko kiss. and then more.

Even ten years after the fact, Sucy still dreamt of the blood that streamed down her cheek. It was the closest she ever got to crying, to be honest. Sometimes, she heard the panicked shrill of her many, many other siblings once they stumbled upon the room—a room, which, reeked of potions and red iron. Stained pages. Toxin. And at the center of it all, Sucy just sat there, her hand hovering over her left eye in a moment of dull, hollow shock…

Tonight was one of those nights, where both the warmth of bloody tears and the panicked screams pulled her awake. Her seeing eye rolled open, and for a moment, Sucy watched the ceiling boards with a flickered, bitter frown.

Sucy sat up and tucked her knees close before she eyed the bunk across the dorm. Lotte was dead asleep, which was to be expected at the brink of midnight. Akko was still off with her nightly hours of practice, which was to be expected of Akko being…Akko. Sucy chewed the inside of her cheek before she begrudgingly slipped off her nightcap. She stalked towards her lab-coat—the one that hung on its hook, clean and new. Once it was shrugged on, Sucy flattened the crisp edges as she buttoned the coat, then pulled its belt around with a satisfying click!

She roamed back to her desk where a sizeable, moleskin notebook was then pulled out from its corner. A criminally threadbare thing, aged with scars and faded material. A journal that had been in Sucy's possession since the beginning of her poisonous, fungal obsessions. She languidly flipped through, careful of the brittle parchment, and skimmed through every recipe and note that were scrawled corner-to-corner. Sketches of abhorrent creatures. Descriptions of blood-curdling mixtures.

Ultimately, the journal was a cursed thing to the point that even Sucy wouldn't dare argue otherwise.

Her left eye stung at the mere truth of it, though she didn't flinch—not that Sucy ever did beforehand. Even in her childhood.

Minotaur Quantum. Cupid Poison. Triple-Beetle Antacid. Festering Potion...

All pages with grotesque imagery, cynical intent and immoral instructions. A cursed journal indeed.

Despite these pages serving Sucy as a mentor of sorts, it wasn't long until she flipped to the thirty-third potion: Slumbering Heart Toxin.

The same frown she awoke with flickered again, and Sucy brushed her fingertips along her left cheek. Dark, maroon blotches stained the parchment, and they painted the mangled anatomical heart at the center of the two pages whole. The ink practically glittered with red iron, shimmering as if the journal had digested the only tears Sucy ever bled. Because of that, through intuition, Sucy knew that the thing claimed her in a way. And through another way, a pit in her chest wanted for her to be unclaimed.

Her jaw tightened as she skimmed the lines of the page to a familiar rhythm—one that was followed each and every time she woke up to the toxin's effect:

To silence the passionate beat of the heart, and to restrain the scorn of ache and pining, brew the Slumbering Heart Toxin.

1 1/2 drops of Arthropod Toxin

3/4 tears of Mangled Citrus

4 shreds of Goat Hide

3 1/6 strings of Clathrus Ruber—

The entryway behind her barged open from the energy of an exhausted witch, who then leaned her back into the door with a strained grumble. Sucy didn't need to turn around to see the pastry crumbs around Akko's mouth, nor the wrapped bandages around her new scars; Sucy was well aware of Akko's habits and tendencies to know. Akko flopped stomach-first into her bunk, which didn't even stir Lotte who, too, was well aware of her shenanigans—to the point where she was well-adjusted in her sleep. After a minute of silence, Sucy heard a muffled, "I'm not in the mood to be a guinea pig, so no potions."

"Wasn't planning on it," Sucy murmured, dry, and she eyed the rack of ingredients along the wall. "You wasted the last cauldron anyway."

"Well you did because you actually expected me to drink that stuff," Akko retorted.

"You have before."

"I—" Sucy paused when Akko wrenched herself upright and snapped, "Wait, what?!"

Sucy felt the barest of smirks crawl to fruition, and she detached herself from the page, flipping to the next set of instructions. "A couple of times, actually." To Akko's grunt of annoyance, Sucy looked over her shoulder with her wide, fanged grin. Akko sulked from the end of her bed, criss-crossed, arms folded, with bandages coating her arms as a new layer of flesh. Once Sucy's seeing eye drifted back to her journal, another lapse of silence settled between them. Akko pushed herself off the bed with a few creaks, minded the second bunk as to not literally bump Lotte awake in the night, and she meandered to her dresser with quiet steps.

Acid of Jumping-Stock. Medusa's Petrifying Elixir. Riga-mortis Enhancement…

None of which was what Sucy wanted. In thought, she pulled a patch of charred fabric from a nook underneath the desk and rubbed. Nothing to please the pit in her chest and its one wish.

Nulled Wreaking Toxin. Purified Rat's Ven—

"Ow!" was quietly hissed, and Sucy turned to watch Akko at her dresser. Her red shorts had already been pulled on, leaving the witch to struggle with the button-up. And it was no wonder why: her back was coated with soiled bruises and jagged—though healed—lacerations. Instead of the mere fall or scrape, these were no doubt of magical origin. Nasty wounds by nature. Fickle in treatment. The kind that the alchemist worked to both inflict and heal. When Akko paused, Sucy retracted her lingering gaze and pulled herself back to the desk. Even in the moonlight, she could feel Akko's curiosity lurk across the room, settled on Sucy's lab-coat.

No words, of course, because it was hardly the first time this happened. Day or night, a conscious Lotte or not, Sucy had caught the way light shaped the back of Akko's torso—along her scars and evolving curves. And her long hair. And, for the briefest of seconds, the flat of her teammate's stomach. Throughout the past years, since the beginning. Day or night, an aware Lotte or not, Akko knew and let her watch because catching Sucy vulnerable was, by Jennifer, the equivalent of witnessing a snow leopard out of her cave. From the few semesters before, after the first (chaotic) summer schooling.

Sucy worked her jaw with another kind of frown—one more contemplative than bitter—, then tucked away the charred fabric. Wand-less, she flicked her wrist to light the lamp on the shelf, waking the spirit inside from its cumbersome nap. The room was suddenly bathed in a quiet, sage green. Her hand hesitated before she thumbed through the journal with one potion in mind:

Embalmed Reishi False-Toxin. Page seventy-two.

She ignored the dresser drawer when it was shut tight, as well as Akko's wandering steps around the bunk and across their oval rug. "I thought you just said no potions," Akko murmured.

Sucy's crimson, seeing eye flicked to the journal as she wordlessly reached for the dwindling stock she had left.

1 Ganoderma lingzhi mushroom head — embalmed & unruptured

1 drop of fermented (1+ yr) Cantharocybe oil

4 drops of Hashing Tox—

Another frown flickered, and Sucy internally growled. Hashing toxin antibiotics weren't something she just got her hands on; the half-vial Lukić slipped her was already a trunk of wealth. Both mushrooms were there, and the spell to quickly ferment the potion wasn't difficult by any means. So the hashing toxin antibiotics… Maybe Akko could just shrug it off. That, or—

A wheeze choked itself out of Akko after she tripped back into her bunk, and Sucy's attention lingered as the wounded witch deflated with a groan.

Sucy's left eye burned in retaliation to the compression of her chest. With another silent scowl, now reluctant, Sucy slipped on her gloves and reached for the ingredients. After another few minutes of silence, where Sucy's concentration stifled Akko's relentless curiosity, said curiosity foamed across the unspoken line of silence: "Is that your weird book?"

Goggles were pulled over, and Sucy watched the concoction as it began to curdle with life—the hashing toxin antibiotic festering with the bacteria of the Cantharocybe oil. Instead of answering, Sucy asked, "Were you practicing alchemy-resistance spells?"

"Oh, yeah," Akko murmured. "I passed out a couple of times, and after the last one I woke up to Chariot freaking out. Apparently I did kinda, uh, the opposite thing so I didn't block whatever's been growing out of the forest. That alchemic moss thing that's been spitting on everyone." The concoction sparked, and Sucy slipped the embalmed mushroom head in. "How d'you know that?"

"Your bruises," Sucy answered with a blunt edge. "They're almost green."

"Oh… Yeah…" Akko shifted back upright. "I guess I forgot to tell her about my back."

Once the vial's mixture turned a blackened purple—where in the light, only its rim was violet—, Sucy snatched her wand from the edge of the desk and extended it. She warned, "Light," nonchalantly and pointed the wordless spell to the vial.

"Wh—"

The burst of white light dazzled Akko from the bunk, and once the spell waned, Sucy opened her seeing eye and looked at the small droplet at the bottom of the vial. She swirled it rhythmically as Akko danced in the center of the room—having launched herself out from the bunk and covered her eyes. Akko squabbled a torrent of crude Japanese with a frenzied intensity.

Once she detached her hands from her face, she glared at Sucy and puffed her cheeks angrily. Akko's flared eyes watched Lotte for a moment before she hissed, "What-was-that?!" through gritted teeth.

Sucy raised the vial and pulled back her goggles, setting them on the desk. "Embalmed false-toxin. I used Cantharocybe gruberi for it."

"Cathanro— Whatever." Akko folded her arms in mild protest. "I'm still not drinking it 'cause I said I wasn't going to be your test subject."

"It's for those bruises. And whatever else you managed to do."

Akko eyed her, then the journal. "From that thing?" she grumbled, nodding to Sucy's side.

"Yes…?"

Akko squinted. "Since when did that have nice potions?" Sucy arched her brow. "Like healing stuff."

"It does have other uses, but it's a healing potion," Sucy assured, monotone. A wide smile then broke free, once again revealing her sharp teeth. "With a bite."

"Sucy!"

"It's only a drop," Sucy murmured, "so quit being a little bitch. You've had worse." After a thought, she added, "If anything, it'll probably sting less because you're growing immunity to this kind of stuff anyway."

Akko rocked her jaw, eyes still squinted. "…great." She glanced at the vial. "Just the drop?"

Sucy blinked. "Yes."

"…that little one?"

Her scowl finally surfaced, and Sucy deadpanned, "Do you want me to drink it myself? I still have burns from the last time you fucked up a potion of mine." Her eye narrowed. "And my last lab-coat."

Akko winced, and she fumbled a short, "Yeah…uh, sorry." Both waited while Lotte rolled in her sleep, burrowed deeper into her bedding. When Akko didn't add anything, Sucy exhaled a silent breath and meandered back to her desk, then slipped the vial in a slot of its wooden rack.

She flipped through the journal again, searching for a remedy. Something to treat the pit in her chest that had whittled and teased its way to life. And as she thumbed the patch of fabric underneath her desk—the chard sleeve of her old lab-coat—, Sucy felt the weight, that pit, thrum up her esophagus. The bitter frown returned, and the itch and sting of her left eye toyed at her. Sucy ignored Akko's attempt to pick the conversation back up; the catches of her voice only irritated the hollow bass of where Sucy's heart should've been.

And of course, Sucy mindlessly flipped back to those two pages. The two pages that, in her childhood, she hoped would've erased any temptation. Perhaps it did, in a way. It certainly strangled the life out of her thumping heart, leaving her to feel everything but the organ. And what, now there was room for someone to fill—?!

"Sucy…?"

Akko's gentle curiosity rattled the alchemist out of her thoughts, and she felt all of her thoracic cavity seize. Those endearing, rust eyes of Akko's shifted between Sucy and…

And the lab-coat's sleeve.

Sucy's jaw tightened, and she tucked it further into her lap, against her belt. "You…uh, kept it? …I thought you said that the lab-coat was—"

"I know," Sucy bit. Turned away, she raised her knuckles to her thinned lips, the sleeve was kept tight in her grasp. Sucy smelled the smoke of potion, and the detergent that Constanze used to clean it. She could even smell Akko's reoccurring stupidity—the strongest aroma of them all. Something jolted her chest to throb. Something that wasn't there, or its weight wasn't, but its impact against her organs and ribs and flesh still writhed with a passion.

"Sucy? What's on those pages?"

Sucy wanted to grate her teeth to dust and choke as she swallowed them down. "I used it since I was a kid, so it got stained."

The doubt that spawned off of Akko's skin reeked.

And she ignored it. Instead, Sucy muttered, "Do you want the stupid potion or not?"

"Um… I-I guess so," Akko said. "With a chaser?"

Sucy rolled her eye. "Since when do you need a chaser?"

"Well you've never asked!"

"Okay?"

Akko scowled, then relented. "At least something with it?" (Okay, somewhat relented.)

The hollow crater in her chest seized again, and Sucy growled, "What, like the little crumbs of doughnut that are still on your face?"

Sucy heard Akko sputter her irritation before she furiously wiped her mouth with her arm. "No! That wouldn't be enough!"

"Then what is?" Sucy retorted, her crimson eye sliced through rust.

Akko paused, watching Sucy carefully to the point that the alchemist actually thought she was going to say something smart. But no: "You're always such a bitch to me, Suc— Craugch!"

"Would you shut the fuck up?!" Sucy snapped, smacking Akko by the merciless edge of her hand. Akko, of course, was sent to the ground with the weight of an anvil. As she rubbed the the crook of her neck—the origin of her gag's eruption—, both watched the top bunk whilst Lotte restlessly wriggled in her sleep. At the end of Sucy's glare, Akko remained sheepish; it had been nearly a whole semester where Akko managed to keep her voice down, though apparently Sucy's firm hand needed a reintroduction.

Sucy rolled her eye and sat back down, having not realized she stood in the first place. The charred sleeve was roughly pocketed. She went back to flipping through pages, searching for an answer to that hollow ache—which, at that point, irked with irritation more than anything else. And, naturally, Akko got back up with a huff. Once she sat on the edge of the solitary bed, Sucy murmured, "I'll feed the potion to the plant you overwatered."

"Yeah right."

"Or I'll use it on myself for the burns," Sucy added, ignoring Akko's comment.

Akko snorted. "Yeah right. You're a masochist."

Sucy's frown tightened, and she retorted, "Old burns are irritating. I could give you some for you to know that yourself."

"You wouldn't." A brow raised, and Sucy flicked her glare back to Akko who was all-too confident. The witch shrugged, and she said, pointedly, "You've done everything but burn. So no, I know you wouldn't, Sucy—even if you are a bitch."

"Whatever." Sucy raised the potion for what had to be the last time—otherwise she swore she'd throw the fucking thing out, regardless of the rarity of its contents. "Do you want this or not?"

Akko folded her arms and pouted. "It's still going to hurt."

Going to… Sucy paused, and her chest lurched at the sound of those words. Her scowl was light this time around, and she said, "I told you before, you've built—"

"Everything from that stupid book hurts, Sucy!" Akko snapped instantly. Then, quiet, she added, "You masochist…"

"Okay?! So what?!" Sucy hissed.

Akko, rather smugly, shushed her and pointed to Lotte's bunk. Sucy's scowl deepened, and her firm hold around the vial grew tight. Lotte (unsurprisingly) remained asleep, which spoke more to how frequently the pair argued over Sucy's potions than her natural slumbering habits. Sucy rubbed her forehead with a sneer, and she grumbled, "I could just shove it up my ass and give myself an anal fissure…"

Without missing a beat, Akko reached with a matching sneer. "You're disgusting."

"You're the one who knows what that means," Sucy replied with a subtly entertained grin.

"I don't want to even imagine what you've done…"

Sucy shrugged and played with a dull shard of glass, which came from one of the vials Akko broke when she simultaneously torched Sucy, the cauldron, and the old lab-coat. "It's not that bad," she detailed, the corner of her lips quirking to another entertained smile. "It's actually really good at first, but then it gets annoying after you have to clean it up every day for a few weeks. Your asshole's easy to tear, and it doesn't heal that well when you're constantly shitting or putting objects up there." She turned to watch Akko from over her shoulder, and Akko was undeniably floored with repulsion. "Lucky for me," Sucy noted, "I've gotten to the point where I'd have to try to tear it."

"…you're…fucking…disgusting…" Akko hissed.

"Would you—"

"No!"

The force behind Akko's rejection startled a giggle from Sucy, one that she allowed to progress into a fanged laugh. She tittered from her desk, her eye glinting with grotesque mischief. Akko, meanwhile, was left to stammer with cheeks gradually melting into a fine red. When she couldn't find any words, Akko turned away. Sucy's laughter died down, and she kept her jaw firm; her laugh wasn't something to admire, given that her teeth usually warded people away.

Stupid Akko…

Another spell of silence.

Another few minutes of rifling through the journal, finding absolutely nothing—which was another given, since the journal wouldn't have any intentions of removing its claim. As if Sucy didn't know. As if the pit in her chest was expected to satisfy its desire.

Eventually, the springs in Sucy's bed-frame squeaked, and Akko meandered to the desk. "So…um, it would be quick, right? Since it's a drop…?"

Sucy didn't lift her attention from the journal. "It works over a day."

"No, I mean… Well, okay." Akko paused. "But I mean the pain. That— That doesn't last a day, right?"

"No. Usually just an hour or so—"

"…great."

"—but you probably wouldn't notice from your immunity." They watched each other. Sucy's gaze was indifferent whereas Akko's stare was skeptical. Sucy narrowed her eye. "What?"

Akko stewed for a second or two, then asked, "So what does it feel like, then?"

Sucy thought for a moment, since it had been a little while, and she said, "Like swallowing a knife down your throat." Akko's stare hardened. "Or just prickly."

"You just like pissing me off, don't you?"

"It's not like it's hard."

Akko's response was a testament to her grown maturity over the past couple of years: instead of blowing up and absolutely riling Lotte awake, she folded her arms, leaving only her brow to twitch. Speaking of, both watched Lotte as she continued to sleep like a baby, delightfully unaware of the pair's antics; the amount of stories that Akko and Sucy could share would be enough to molt the ginger's youth off by layers—starting with her hair. Sucy was the first to break away, so she took the opportunity to flip her middle finger. Akko took a double-take and snapped, "You bitch." (Maturity only went so far, after all—even if it was the last semester.)

Sucy snickered. "Easy…"

"Why do you have to be so antagonistic?" Akko muttered, sitting back on her bunk. "You're still the only one who's mean to me."

The crater in her chest itched with sudden resentment. If to stamp it away, or to spill it out—Sucy didn't rightly know which—, the alchemist glowered into her journal. "Oh who gave you that vocabulary lesson?"

"Uh, I don't know. Could be a bunch of girls," Akko started, testing the brinks of Sucy's acknowledged envy. "Maybe Diana—she's very good at her words, and she's very good at teaching me." Sucy bit the inside of her cheek, and her brows twitched. "Or Mary. She's very sweet you know. Oh, also Hannah and Barbara. They've been nicer to me too." The crater's itch didn't cease, and her glare continued to burn through the pages of the journal. "I guess Amanda too, but she's better at teaching how to move my body on a broom than book stuff—" Sucy wanted to snap something— "but Lotte is good with books, especially with all that Nightfall. She's told me a lot about those special scenes—"

"What. The. Fuck are you doing?!" Sucy seethed, lurching out of her chair with her fists tight and teeth bared—all in one motion. She swallowed her breath after having felt how cracked her words slid out. "Why the fuck are you bringing them up right now?! Nothing—"

"Lotte!"

Sucy brought herself to a terrifying halt, and without checking the top bunk, she hissed, dangerously low, "They have nothing to do with this potion, you idiot."

"Well you get like this whenever I don't spend enough time with you! Or when you're just fucking pissed at me because of whatever! Again—" Akko strangled the air— "sorry for blowing up your shit. I've apologized ten fucking times now! And you kept a piece of it anyway! I bought you your stupid new lab-coat, and I fucking apologized, so stopbeing a bitch!"

Sucy held herself by the upper arms, and she turned away from Akko with a tight, impersonal scowl. It was more directed internally than anyone in the room—at Luna Nova, even. She hated the way the void in her chest shivered, pathetically scorned by her words. And she hated that she knew what pathetic scorn felt like. If Sucy was any other witch, there was no doubt in her mind that she'd be in tears by this point; it was a gut feeling, supported by the many, many times she watched Akko break down over the academy's drama.

A sigh left the bottom bunk when Akko scratched the back of her neck, and she muttered, "I'm not interested in them, okay? I've told you. I'm not. They're all just friends, Sucy."

There wasn't a response. Sucy didn't look her way, either.

"…Sucy?"

The alchemist paused, and she mustered a quiet, brewed murmur: "What…?"

When Sucy did turn around, Akko was watching the journal with her own spit of resentment. "You don't know what joy feels like, do you? Just pain?"

Another scowl contorted itself, and Sucy asked, "What kind of question is that?"

"Well do you?!" Akko snapped. "Because you sure don't know what it looks like when I actually like someone."

Her thoracic cavity twisted once again. It wasn't like Sucy actually had to answer. Akko already knew all about how Sucy was left to her own devices as a child—and that her parents preferred making children rather than raising them. A story that her whole village knew—especially the condo with its thin walls—but did nothing about. Sucy scoffed. "Why would you care…?"

"Beca— Because it's you I want, you idiot! You even know that!" Akko retorted. "And you know I hate that stupid book! That's your blood on it, isn't it?!"

"So what?!" Sucy fumed.

Akko rocked her jaw, then snapped it shut. She watched Sucy for a long moment. "I still don't trust that potion."

She almost forgot about that damn thing. She almost forgot about Akko's wounds. "I made it…" Sucy muttered crossly, "to heal your bruises…"

"I know. I trust you—" the alchemist froze— "but that book is a different story."

"What do you want?"

"I want to take it together." The room plunged into a remarkably subdued tension. The glow of the lantern and its spirit still sculpted the shadows with sage green, highlighting Sucy's outline. Akko swallowed, and she murmured, "I'm not interested in anybody else but you, Sucy. And I'm better than that weird book. So kiss me. I want you to forget about everybody else and the anti-toxin and kiss. Me."

A rare, startled brow flickered, and Sucy upon a gut instinct corrected Akko through a mumble: "False-toxin."

"I don't care."

"I know." Sucy paused, and her grip around her arms tightened. She…wanted this, didn't she? She wanted to accept this offer, right? The alchemist frowned. "How? Just spit in your mouth?"

Akko rolled her eyes. "An actual kiss, Sucy. Like…I-I want this to be real. Not just something to fight over all the time without…" She shrunk, and something about how small Akko appeared on her bed budged Sucy's irritation away. "If we're going to fight, I just…um, I want there to be something we're actually fighting about, not just…beating around the bush…"

The tips of Sucy's fingers reached her lips in thought. Akko— To have Akko actually… Her seeing eye flicked to the witch, and her thoughts dwelled.

Just do it…

Sucy exhaled quietly, and she muttered, "Fine."

Akko blinked. "R-Really?"

"Yes! What, were you just bullshitting?!" Sucy hissed.

"N-No!"

"Then—" Sucy scowled. She turned her back to the bunk and began to loot through her instruments. "Just wait there…idiot."

"…bitch." Akko, though, waited as told.

With the vial in her hand, Sucy hesitated when she reached for her wand, which had slipped into one of the open drawers. She was abruptly queasy. Terse, Sucy stamped it down and snatched her wand. With its tip, a sphered glow collected the potion from the bottom of the vial. It was painted on with care, and the false-toxin burned with a sickening chill. Her eye caught her reflection in one of Lotte's mirrors beside her lab equipment; in it, the black coat of her lips was seared by lines of sage green from the lantern, and over her shoulder there was Akko, watching her hands that rested on her lap. Sucy narrowed her eye. What was she doing standing at her desk? Was she actually trying to look pretty for once? Really?! Like she would ever in her lab-coat—regardless of how crisp and new it was. Or anything she wore, frankly.

Sucy turned away from the mirror and eyed the bunk. Akko raised her attention, and she looked doubly squeamish as color rose to her cheeks. Before Akko could fumble a word out, Sucy warned, "Don't. I just told you to wait."

"O-Okay, right…" Akko did, however, fumble a squeak when Sucy crawled onto her lap wordlessly, a hand sliding up to the pulse-point of Akko's wrist. "U-Um… Okay, u-uh, we're— Fuck."

"I can still spit it in and we'll be done with it," Sucy threatened.

Akko shook her head vehemently. "No! I'm just… Um, well, I didn't really know what our first—"

"Would you shut up?!" Sucy breathed. "We don't have all night, and you need to be quiet."

Akko squinted, and Sucy knew her thoughts jolted to the top bunk. "We could do it on your bed…?"

"Would you rather have her see and hear us or just hear us?"

"…outside?"

Sucy scoffed. "You pissed off all of the fairies here, so no, they wouldn't let you get away with anything."

"Ah, right…" Akko bit her lip nervously. "I… Okay." She inhaled, and as another passing second lingered, Sucy felt a layer of confidence shield Akko. It was a quirk of hers that the alchemist watched with every obstacle, and dammit, she couldn't help but admit that she actually admired the quirk. "O-Okay."

Sucy hesitated for a split second more and sighed. Another queasy itch quivered, and she knew if they didn't just do italready, it wouldn't happen. "Now you better not waste this," Sucy muttered, her lips still scalding against the false-toxin's chill.

Akko swallowed and nodded. Then waited. For her.

The temptation to lick her lips nearly rendered this whole thing useless, though Sucy wasn't sure if she'd let this opportunity pass either way. The opportunity to experiment with Akko, or was it find what she stole from herself? Orwas it a confusing mass of both?

Regardless, Sucy inhaled the temptation down before she leaned in, her thumb digging into the pulse of Akko's wrist. Upon contact, Akko flinched against the malicious burn of the potion through a whine. But, even with her few winces against the cuts of pain, Akko still complied. And as she complied, Sucy continued to mold the potion into Akko where sprites of satisfaction escaped her. She was, most definitely, enjoying this more than she anticipated. To the point where, when the weight of their kiss ushered them against Akko's sheets, a deep, sickly jolt speared Sucy down her spine. It deafened her thoracic cavity before melding within her groin. The last of the potion's bite faded layer-by-layer, though it didn't manifest an end to this sudden intimacy.

No. Rather, Sucy felt herself become enveloped by Akko's ferocity. A ferocity, that, she didn't expect from the witch; for a hyper-active student who had discipline as the bane of her existence, the sudden focus was deliriously overwhelming. Perhaps the near witching hour had something to do with it, though Sucy sought to blame Akko's tendency to indulge more so.

Still, it wasn't like she was going to stop this. The crater within her chest—the void pounding against her lungs and diaphragm—was consuming her to a ceaseless extent. A profound, violent extent.

It was a decree, then, that drove her voice to thrum against Akko. A careful hand found its way along her jaw, and a brief moment of hesitation was birthed before Akko braved her sharp teeth in a deep, open-mouthed kiss, ripe with blistering hunger. The trail of organs inside Sucy strangled themselves. So, she palmed Akko's naval, and her long fingers danced up the witch's stomach as she thought back to the glimpses of Akko's body—the same ones she stole. And, wouldn't she know, Akko's stomach felt the same as she thought it would: warm, soft, though oddly solid.

The buttons of her lab-coat began to pop, conducted by Akko's teasing hand. With each button, the empty crater within Sucy's chest rattled into her lungs. Her nails drew lines from underneath Akko's white shirt, and when the belt sagged her lab-coat down her arms, Sucy shed it off—an extra layer of hide. Possessed by the fluidity of a cold serpent, she ignored the thunk! of the buckle and muffled sprawl of cloth against the hardwood floor. Sucy felt intoxicated by a similar high—that to the likes of those long hours hovering over her potions. Only, this wasn't a potion. Not something she could control. Instead, this— It had to have been a bewitchment, the way Akko was the one to shepherd this—whatever this was—and have Sucy's arousal convulse the way it did.

Stupid… How did I let this moron do this…?

The pair parted with heavy breaths, and as Akko leaned upright with her knuckles hitched around the rim of her shirt, the red of their eyes never left one another. Sucy's crimson eye darkened at the sight of Akko's burning, wicked rust. The shirt was tossed to the side, and before Sucy could see where it landed, lips were stitched back to her own. She couldn't help it, the curious hum that reverberated through the cavities of her body. Sucy arched with the clutch that followed the lines of her back, and she sifted her hands through long, brunette hair to guide their kiss further. Maybe she was too busy coating Akko's lips and tongue with the embalmed potion to notice her bout of excitement. Nevertheless, Sucy felt their weight sway before she laid backwards to Akko's pillow, kiss broken.

Against the pillow, Sucy was pinned by a hand wrapped around her throat, which, naturally, was to her arousal's benefit. Akko watched her, somewhat light-headed, with her bangs freed. They had grown over the years, though still lacked the…desirable style that was usually appropriate. Knowing Akko, it was by choice. Not that Sucy could complain because, again, it was a benefit of a particular sort. Sucy flexed her hand against the pillow, and she was quick to realize that she had taken the hair-tie after all; it rolled to her wrist as she watched Akko with intrigue.

The intrigue was swiftly rattled by alarm. Akko took no notice, of course, so when she paused, Sucy knew there was a comment conjuring inside that thick skull of hers. Before a word could slip, Sucy grabbed Akko by the mouth, her fingers dug on either side—into her cheeks. Crimson narrowed as a warning, and Akko listened to the springs above them chirr.

Her eyes, though, didn't leave Sucy.

Within the moment whilst Lotte shifted alongside her dreams—whatever they were—, the tension between the pair curdled into a sludge of yearned curiosity. The broth of intent began to swim with a deeper, visceral sort of temptation. And, in her way, Sucy sought to experiment with that line. Paw at it before they crossed that barrier. Her thumb rubbed Akko's cheek—along the line of where teeth were on the other side—before she slicked it into her mouth. Akko still watched her, brows flicked with suspicion, while Sucy's drawled experiment rummaged through the moist cavern.

And it churned, her gut. Sucy pricked the fingertip off of a bottom canine, then smoothed it alongside Akko's tongue. Baiting the witch.

Crimson sharpened with a commanding desire. Bite it.

Akko hesitated once a snore escaped Lotte overhead. Then, tentatively, she teethed Sucy's thumb on either side. But nothing more. Sucy's coo was a mixture of irritation and lust; she knew how easy it was to bite through a finger—even without her particular characteristic. All she wanted, though, was a mark. A sign that Akko could.

But. No.

Instead of a wolf, it appeared to be a doe that held her against the bunk, the hand around her neck now teasing the buttons of her nightgown open. When the crisp air of the room clipped more of her chest, Sucy narrowed her gaze and forced her thumb further in, gliding along Akko's tongue. Instantly, Akko gagged, and she jerked away with a choke.

"Sucy!"

A smirk crept, and Sucy reeled Akko back to her with a hand along her chin. "Your gag reflex needs work…" she murmured.

"W-Why…?" Akko hissed, only for her eyes to widen. She huffed and added, "Actually, don't tell me."

Sucy hummed, very entertained with herself. "Why not? You always stick your nose into everything anyway."

"Because I don't want to think of that right now."

Her scowl resurfaced. "You don't want to think of sex right now…?"

"Well, um… I mean, u-uh…" Even in the shadows, away from the sage green of her lamp, Sucy saw color embellish itself across Akko's cheeks. "I-I mean, like, err— Do you— Do you want to have—"

"Clearly, Akko, I do," Sucy scoffed. "Now quit being stupid and explain what you mean by 'that?!'"

"But what if the professors—"

Sucy rolled her eyes. "Really…? Akko, we're of age so quit with the stupid. They won't care. And it's not like we'd have a worse detention than before."

Akko blinked, and her stupid (for now, at least) was stashed away. "Oh, right…"

"Now quit stalling and explain."

Her hand left Sucy's chest to scratch the back of her neck. "I just— I don't want to feel like an experiment. Not, not this time, I mean…" she whispered. After another second, Akko added, "And you can do whatever to me later. I— Just tonight, please. I told you I want this to be, um…real." Sucy didn't answer. Her silence dismayed the witch, at least before she noticed Sucy's surprise. Akko's notorious face of confusion pulled itself together, and she breathed, "…Sucy?"

The crimson in her eye was swelled with something neither recognized. However, when Sucy replied in a quiet whisper, both knew it was her own shape of confusion: "What do you want from me…?"

Akko swallowed, and she enveloped her arms around Sucy in a heartfelt embrace. "A chance?" she asked."Please?"

An itch of guilt. Right in her chest. Spurring the empty weight to quiver. Why was Akko begging? This wasn't an experiment. It— It wasn't. Sucy blinked, and again she couldn't answer. So, rather cautiously, Akko pecked her lips. Once. Then twice when Sucy responded in kind. A third, fourth and fifth. Again and again until the kisses weren't so much pecks but instead long, intimate locks where they explored one another. Sucy's nausea returned, burrowing into her gut as desire plagued more layers of her body. She really, really did want Akko, didn't she? In the same way—outside the cynical touch of experiments and faux intimidation. Already, she found things to love about Akko in this way. How the witch worked around her teeth. How their bodies pieced together so naturally. It— It scared her, to be honest. But she couldn't shy away. A piece of her kept her tethered.

Minutes passed, and their bodies were revved by arousal. Their kiss broke, and Sucy watched the rust of eyes without a word. Akko's frown was that of concentration. That patter of tension that drummed Sucy hindered the alchemist's thoughts for a moment, so when Akko—within that moment—kissed the sweet spot along her neck, Sucy was taken aback by the gentle affection. Her arms wrapped around Akko by her shoulders, and her nails pricked skin as the warmhearted pecks continued. Sucy didn't even realize she had a sweet spot, nor that her body would just coil around whatever warmth this was. It confused her. It deterred her very doctrine.

This wasn't right.

If neither of her parents cared to hold Sucy close, to even give her a speck of attachment, then nobody had the right to be this soft and careful. Yet Akko had the gall to guide Sucy's legs, hands running up her limber thighs, and have them hook around her waist. Yet Sucy had the nerve to feel a quiet mewl spawn—one that she forced down with a hissed inhale—once Akko began to grind their hips together.

The backdrop to her irk, however, continued to drone. Desire, as it were. It had her legs tense around Akko, keeping the witch right where she was, and it had her body move with the slow, drawled pace that ever-so-gently swayed the bunk. It was a rhythm that lulled her, really, and played into her creeping hunger.

By the time she felt her nightgown stick to her skin, and her underwear warm against the friction, their breaths had no mind to whether or not Lotte would notice; she probably dreamt of steamy Nightfall scenes anyhow, they concluded, so it wouldn't make a difference if their tones snuck their way in. By the time the mattress was no longer chilled against her back, Sucy felt Akko's whisper crawl into her skin: "Sucy…"

She felt a jolt of irritability race a bout of adoration. No. No, stupid. Sucy felt along the rim of Akko's bra, and she hissed, "Idiot."

Sucy's warped sense of time made it difficult to know whether or not Akko had hesitated, or if she snapped without missing a beat: "Bitch…"

But it mattered not.

Akko's tone, still, was consumed by an affection that swamped the bare-minimum of what her parents should'veprovided. In that bed, Sucy heard the discarded memories of her childhood. "[Little rat, go to the market for our dinner,]" her father routinely to barked, being that Sucy was one of the older from his herd of children. As for her mother, it was always the same: if Sucy got in the way, knock her flat without a word, as if she was a cow to shepherd. So, no matter how obscene Akko's insults were, how offensive, Sucy felt a layer of decency. A decency, which, was rooted from the desire to mount Sucy in her bunk, and hold her tight, and kiss her soft—all things that, really, weren't decent.

Nails scraped the bruised flesh underneath Akko's bra, and Sucy gnawed tender skin.

She had no right. She had no fucking right treating Sucy like this. Treating Sucy better than her own parents—or life benefactors, though she didn't know the difference, did she? A tight, low groan slithered against Sucy from the base of Akko's throat, and another thing eroded Sucy's indifference.

Antagonistic…

Diana. Mary. Hannah and Barbara. Amanda. Lotte…

Why Sucy?! Out of all of them, for what fucking purpose was there to kiss Sucy?! To admit her feelings months ago?! Even if begrudgingly, to go right along with her experiments?!

Nothing.

There was no good reason. If her parents never cared for her out of the horde of children they birthed, Akko had no fucking right to choose her.

This was the reason why she took the journal from her mother's collection. This was exactly why she poured her attention into it, and why she stumbled upon her first toxin to brew.

To silence the passionate beat of the heart, and to restrain the scorn of ache and pining...

Get rid of it. Get rid of it all was the only thing that Sucy wished for. If her parents didn't bother, and if her siblings never knew, she could just throw it away and be left in her own sense of peace.

Brew the Slumbering Heart Toxin.

A peace without any more heartache. A peace without a morsel of the convulsing confoundment that affection inevitably invited.

One and a half drops of arthropod toxin. Three-quarters of a tear from a mangled citrus. Four shreds of goat hide. Three and one-sixth strings of Clathrus ruber…

So simple. Every ingredient was there for her to take—all of the worst of toxic substances were in her house, right there for a child to snatch. A child like Sucy, who only snapped and bit and stole for attention without a tear to cry.

Then there was the final ingredient—a condition for such an act: flesh to scar. Something that would be chosen by the toxin itself.

And for Sucy, it was her bleeding eye…

The damned potion worked, too. After the potion, she never cared about parental attention. She never cared about sibling affection. She could be alone, and content, and busied by her experiments. That was her vow, to which she remained loyal to.

None of that mattered in the present, though. Not as Akko's care persisted, the soothing yet lustful roll of her hips bent on siphoning pleasure from the alchemist. Not as it was working directly against her vow with vigor. Working against that loyalty.

It irritated Sucy to no end how another quiet mewl escaped her, rooting itself deep into Akko's collarbone—a planted seed where her teeth, like trowels, dug into warm fleshy soil. And for the life of her, she couldn't restrain the cracked, gentle cry that broke through those same teeth: "Akko…"

"Sucy," Akko murmured, just as quiet and intimate. Instead of returning a bite, serving an eye for an eye, Akko kissed Sucy's neck tenderly. And? Sucy's resentment was speared by compassion, and through her disorganized drove of emotion, she felt her nails claw new lines along Akko's back. Akko groaned, unperturbed by the top bunk. She panted against the new kiss-mark, which had left a subtle stain of black against Sucy's pale skin. The potion muddled its way into recognition, and so Akko dipped back and licked the spot—yet another soft gesture against Sucy's talons and fangs. Neither felt the burn of the false-toxin by that point, and neither knew if it was due to immunity or distraction.

Yet another thing that didn't matter.

A moan trickled up Sucy's throat once a surge of pleasure swamped her groin, taking the shape of tendrils moving to Akko's pace. She swallowed it, jaw tense. Though they continued to writhe, those tendrils, asserting their will for her to let the pleasure slip. Reluctantly, Sucy did. She breathed, "Akko…"

Muffled, Akko asked, "Eh?"

Sucy didn't have a verbal answer. She only teethed the crook of Akko's neck and closed her eyes to the rhythmic, languid grind of their hips. A gradual leak of panic began to bubble up her throat. It spoke to her timid unease of whatever this was summoning. A dead weight. Inside her chest, there had to be a dead weight that this—that whatever Akko was doing to her—was invoking to resurrect. Teeth gnawed before they sunk again, deep into muscle where Sucy felt the tremble of Akko's pained mewl.

"…bitch," Akko half-hissed, half-groaned.

A weak laugh hummed into the bite mark as Sucy pursed her lips against it. "I kissed it better, idiot," she murmured, dry. Another peck. "Both of them."

"You're never going to warn me, are you?"

With a curled lip, Sucy said, "No." She felt along Akko's back, following the paths of bruising with pressure. Akko offered another grimace, her tone stifled by the dull aches. Sucy nibbled her neck again, then, abruptly, snapped, "Now get off."

"Wh—" Akko scrambled onto her back once a hand at the base of her throat forced her so. The bunk rocked with her sudden shift of weight, and she snapped a hushed, "Sucy!"

"We're fine," Sucy grumbled, raising from the pillow, "so quit crying. She's not going to wake up until her alarm at this point."

Akko chewed the inside of her cheek as Sucy crawled forward, forcing her legs apart. "…I'm not crying." Sucy only hummed, her fingertips dancing along Akko's thighs. She popped the button of Akko's red shorts, and as the hip squares were folded away, Sucy found— "Don't talk about those."

Sucy smiled, and she teased the hem of the cotton, bunny-patterned fabric of underwear. As she pawed the border of skin and undergarment, Sucy murmured, "Lucky for you, I don't care."

Her pecks across Akko's naval were ignored: "Well why-y—?!"

Akko shivered as Sucy trailed her tongue from the hilt of her stomach to her sternum. When Sucy raised her head, she hissed, "What is it going to take for you to shut up?" She found confusion and quickly suspected Akko's bafflement to voice itself. The gears behind rust eyes were working hard, and her mouth opened before any formed thought could slip out. With a sigh, as to halt whatever stupid was coming, Sucy tilted Akko's jaw. "Don't answer that." Her kiss muffled Akko's stupid, and sure enough, it was enough to silence the rambling. Hands wandered. Teeth occasionally nipped. Breaths would crawl into their ears.

Neither knew when this would stop. Though, then again, neither knew when to stop their arguments or banter to begin with. It usually ended whenever Sucy won and worked her potion down Akko's throat, or when Akko had worn her dry to the point where sleep was a better option.

But…this? The potion was already gone. Swallowed away. Even if it would take a full twenty-four hours to work its charm, it was done with. So perhaps they were working towards the latter—where they both were on the way to exhaustion.

Perhaps.

Maybe.

Sucy didn't know. All she knew was that Akko felt soft and warm, and her touch was more so. Something about it lurked deep in Sucy's groin, and no amount of teething satisfied it. Whatever it was, it beckoned her away from her nature. It was alien. Wrong. It should've felt wrong, yet every time Akko's fingertips ran along her back in delicate, curious strokes, Sucy couldn't help but feel like she was melting. Why…? Why and how was it that Akko of all people did this? And what right did Sucy have to find it gratifying?

Abruptly, she pushed Akko away again at the thought of it all. The void within her, it was hammering behind her ears. A scrap of her just wanted this thing to end already, though with Akko watching her, startled, Sucy was consumed by a desire to continue. And it was strong. And it was persuasive.

Sucy straddled Akko across her naval, breaths slinked out of her through the bite of her sharp teeth. Despite her unease of the weight that thundered against her ribcage, Sucy still allowed herself to ravage the carnal sight of Akko's upper-body. The crimson in her eye fermented with libido, and the heat of her skin prickled against the sweat that knotted into her loose nightgown. She planted her hands against Akko's stomach where her thumb dug into a bruise that the false-toxin was at work to heal.

Akko's accent was thick and irritable when she snapped, "Masochist!"

"It's sadist, you idiot," Sucy purred. As a way to solidify her point, Sucy ran her nail along the point of Akko's hip, splitting a bruise with a thin, red line. Akko, without missing a beat, hissed air in retaliation.

Through a softened wince, she grumbled, "You ever touch soft?"

Sucy arched a brow. She swore Akko slipped a few syllabus of Japanese. With a sly hum, Sucy quipped, "Ikay ay bobo."

Akko's eyes flared as another smirk crawled across Sucy's lips. She'd heard it enough times to know what Sucy said—especially since it was usually accompanied by a crude finger. "Bitchi."

To her retort, Sucy felt a snap of air shiver. Her gut prickled, and her back swelled with heat. She frowned, then fixed a quiet grin. "Pero kaya kong subukan…" Sucy murmured, after a long second of thought. Akko blinked, puzzled, and watched her with great suspicion. Once the witch tensed in anticipation, ready for whatever tooth or nail that would—surely—impale her, Sucy hummed to mildly torment.

However, the hand that slid away from Akko's torso was gentle. Sucy cupped the warmth between Akko's legs tenderly, and she felt her own core pulse at the mere touch of Akko's body through her layers. Akko's breath gyrated into a quiet moan as Sucy continued to rub, having not anticipated this. And even though the two decidedly kept the noises as they were—low yet audibly prurient—, Akko bit the length of her thumb to keep her pleasantly-alarmed surprise down. It only grew more difficult to stifle her excitement once Sucy paused to slip her hand underneath those layers.

Akko's quiet gasp startled Sucy—not enough to halt her ministrations, though it quivered the space in her chest nonetheless. She… She admired it, the sound of Akko's voice like this. So quiet and intimate. For once, not a lick of Sucy wanted to inflict pain—or experiment, really—on Akko. The drumming of her chest was no longer something she could just ignore or push away. It rattled her to the bone-marrow. Yet she didn't stop, no. Sucy wanted to know what Akko would do while she pumped her fingers in, as careful as she could muster. Sucy did, however, realize that there was still a firm, cynical edge to her touch. But dammit she was trying. Trying to sedate her urge to bite and scratch as Akko's heat lathered her fingers from the inside—the inside, which, was scalding and wet and swollen with desire. Trying to erase the forsaken throbbing of her chest, and she took her fucking, emotional-queasy heart out a decade ago, so why the hell could she still feel it gnaw into her lungs?!

She was nauseous from how desperately hungry she was. Again, Sucy wanted to lick, and bite, and eat, and scratch and scar and bruise… But Akko's building tone and the weight of her eyes convinced her otherwise. There was still a part of her—which the cursed journal never claimed—that wanted this moment to drag on. A part of Sucy that dwelled in her chest wanted to watch Akko, perfect even with all of her scars and bruises, unravel at her gentle touch.

So when it got to be overwhelming, when there was a lapse of hesitation, Sucy felt Akko grasp her wrist and plant her hand further against herself. The heel of Sucy's palm rubbed against Akko's sensitive point, and long fingers curled inside the witch. "Please," Akko whispered. "Please don't just stop." Sucy swallowed, captured by the yearning rust of Akko's eyes. "Please, don't."

For a split moment, Sucy was dumbfounded. Her natural sense of composure fizzled with meager surety, and Sucy yet again felt her thoracic cavity quake. "Why…?" was the only thing to slip out.

"Because I want this from you, so please quit being mean," Akko breathed, her eyes tainted by a film of glass. "Please. I-I don't want you to be mean right now."

Mean…? Sucy barely nodded as she resumed, still struck by how much she liked feeling this part of Akko's body. How her fingers slicked in and out of her. It was far more gratifying than their shared journey inside Vajarois. For one, she could get off without being drenched by Akko. Although, her sensual gratification was distracted by her thoughts: Mean…? Mean?! Couldn't Akko feel the tremble of Sucy's hand? The one that remained firm on her hip, which Akko was holding onto at the wrist?

So how could Sucy be the mean one when she's absolutely terrified?

Or maybe that was it. She was mean because she was terrified of this. Of— Of going directly against what she vowed when she brewed the Slumbering Heart Toxin. And it was still asleep, Sucy's heart. But, come to find, a slumbering heart could still have dreams, and night terrors, and visits in the wake of slumber. It could still thrash in its bed, pulsing and throbbing against the lungs and ribs—the nightstands and mattress. Kick her diaphragm. Twist into her flesh.

Sucy breathed heavily with Akko's deepened moans, and she felt Akko's maw of desire tighten around her fingers, keeping Sucy to continue her gentle though eager volume of pressure. She drew out layers and layers of Akko's heat into her hand, which ultimately overflowed from the pace she kept. Knots grew to boil in her chest before they lynched their way down Sucy's spine and into the pit of her groin. Longing teethed Sucy's sternum, and as she watched Akko's body move with her breaths, that pit in her groin melted into a vat of desperate arousal. Be it in her nature, Sucy didn't want Akko to be gentle with her, though she still wanted to curl under Akko's tender hands. It wasn't a desire that she could read or hear in her thoughts, however, but rather something she knew from the coagulated static of her coherence. It didn't matter how…this started. Not anymore, if it did to begin with anyway. It didn't matter, though, because all Sucy wanted was to wake up sore, and to wake up knowing she'd left her mark on Akko. And to know that, somehow, she could be gentle…

At the mere thought, Sucy felt the thumping, empty weight in her chest rocket viciously to the base of her throat. A knot was left, one that she nearly choked on while Akko groaned from the base of her gut. Sucy's free hand—the one on Akko's hip—snaked to the witch's throbbing sternum as she continued to work Akko over the edge. And when she did, Sucy felt the pounding of Akko's heart skip a beat. She felt Akko tense and arch into the spry leak of euphoria, the one that Sucy had so tenderly gifted her.

And…

Oh God.

Sucy found something invaluable, just underneath the skin of her hand. Infinitely more revered than the rare ingredients of her potions. She felt it. Through Akko's flesh and bone, Sucy could feel the pulse of her heart, which was awake and loud and erratic with passion.

The depths of the crater within Sucy's chest contorted. Joy and envy writhed in a confusing, mangled ball, and as Sucy pulled out her hand from Akko's shorts to leave it strangling the sheets, she kept her other hand against Akko's chest. Its rhythm continued to plummet through Sucy who, inside her own, felt the ache of a heart. Her heart was like the thunder without lightning, or the rupture of land without the chaotic seizure that rocked everything else. Even with her sleeping heart, she felt it all.

Her eyes burned, and she wanted to torch Akko with blame—for being the emotional idiot underneath her, wear prickled tears and heavy breaths as she rode her high. This stupid, emotional moron did this, and now dark drops of blood rained onto her skin.

The tears that Sucy bled to life.

For the second time, Sucy felt blood stream down her cheek, but instead of the pages of her journal, they fell to stain another person. The same kind of person she wanted to remove from her life before they got the chance; the same type that just cried and laughed and exploded with the incessant feelings that spawned from the center of their chest. She bared her teeth as her seeing eye watered, and so her salty tears joined red iron. Sucy watched as they diluted the blood along Akko's complexion.

When a careful hand caressed her cheek, underneath her draped, mauve bangs that were gradually sodden by red, Sucy winced against its compassion. Akko leaned forward and rested against her elbow, her other hand kept to Sucy's jawline. After a moment, she tentatively pulled away a lock of hair, and Sucy nearly recoiled out of her grasp—out of it completely. All to hide away her blind eye—the one so foul in her reflections; the one, that, was warbled with crimson and clouded white, her pupil and iris shredded without a coherent shape. However, rust eyes kept her grounded. Akko's growing smile and tears burned Sucy further, and she wanted to bite Akko's stupid grin off for it.

"Quit looking at me," Sucy snarled, her longing for comfort anxiously hostile.

"But you're really beautiful," Akko breathed. The innocence of her proclamation forced the words in Sucy's throat to impale her vocal cords. She nearly suffocated as she shook her head, and Akko nodded in earnest. "Yes. It's not an argument," she murmured.

And to the feel of Akko's kiss, laced with the remnants of false-toxin and fresh layer of blood, Sucy believed her. She believed every word.

Once the kiss broke, Sucy simply collapsed into Akko. She clawed Akko close, and as tears—bloody or not—dripped down her shoulder, Akko held her with eyes to the dying lamplight of the room. In a hum, she murmured, "That book is stupid, you know…"

Sucy, she couldn't argue with that. She was only able to nod wordlessly, completely enveloped by Akko's embrace.

Δ ∇ Δ

Gentle, warm tones of sun rained across the lecture hall, splintering into the cold planks of wood. The students lazed through their notes, and the bubbles Professor Pisces spoke were languid.

A quiet, calm morning.

It bore resemblance to those after a natural disaster where up-rooted plants would glimmer with dew underneath the sunrise, and where water would stream quietly alongside the fresh devastation of the night prior. Lotte's occasional glances towards the pair were the cautious onlookers that ventured the scene; to no surprise, of course, seeing as she awoke to a quiet Akko and Sucy where moments lingered and tension trailed behind them. She'd yet to ask what, exactly, the disaster was, and why it left the two remarkably wordless that morning.

Sucy, however, thought the disaster to be one alike a flood, or a mountain slide, where brewing chemistry broke the surface and left the old to slough away.

Her seeing eye dropped from her notes to the hand that clasped with her own, underneath the desk and on the bench. Akko didn't look at her, and she remained sly and irritatingly smug. Though, her complacency was endemic: Sucy trailed her eye along the rings and lines of teeth marks that haunted the skin of Akko's neck, and she couldn't help but allow a fanged smirk to flicker. Somewhat begrudgingly, she returned Akko's gesture with a light squeeze of her fingers.

And she slipped her unfocused attention back to the blackboard and day-dreamed. She dreamt of her blood on Akko's skin, and the intimate, quiet tones of Akko's voice that followed…

Sucy dreamt of the second time where she bled tears, and the first time she cried to her heart's content. I definitely remember writing this one, and as usual, I intend for one thing, then it goes on to be far, far more explicit than necessary. Which doesn't always mean smut, so um. Yeah, Sucy gonna cry blood. Anyway, hope you enjoyed! It's nice for me to revisit some of these older fics. :)

#volt's library #lwa #little witch academia #fanfiction #suakko #ao3 #wattpad #one-shot #smut #atsuko kagari #akko kagari #sucy manbavaran #lotte jansson (kinda but not really)#angst #hurt/comfort #blood #there is blood

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infjtarot · 1 year ago

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Queen of Cups. Golden Art Nouveau Tarot

The Queen of Cups is another “perfect” court card. She is Water of Water, exemplifying the breadth and openness of this element. A body of water can receive rain and snow and mist; it can incorporate minerals and microorganisms, absorbing whatever comes yet remaining one ocean, river, lake. At the same time, although water flows as one body, it invariably encompasses countless currents and eddies. Thus we talk about exploring “the waters” (plural) of a given ocean or diving into “the deeps” (again, plural). In Hebrew, the word for water is always implicitly plural: mayim. We understand this Queen better when we realize that she too is always at least implicitly more than herself, more than just one person. Just as water is always “the waters,” so does she embody the heart of a whole community. In short, she bears a boundless heart of gratitude. “Gratitude is confidence in life itself,” writes Jack Kornfield. “Gratitude receives in wonder the myriad offerings of rain and sunlight, the care that supports every single life.” 82 Water of Water, the Queen of Cups lives a life of gratitude. She is open and clear and startlingly present. Her confidence makes her fierce in love because she knows nothing will be lost if she gives her heart. And if sometimes she seems a bit quiet, it’s only because she is waiting for you to speak. She knows how to take her turn, and how to encourage you to live your truth. She brings out the best in others. Yet sometimes she does so to her own or the community’s detriment. Her clear waters run deep, and her gifts are often exactly what the moment requires. Don’t mistake her silence for fear or shyness. Ask her what she thinks, and prepare to listen. Lisa Freinkel Tishman

#Queen of Cups #tarot #cups #court cards #Golden Art Nouveau Tarot

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rk099 · 1 year ago

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Whispers of the Wilderness: Secrets Hidden in Nature's Silence

In a world that often buzzes with the noise of technology and human activity, there exists a sanctuary of tranquility—the wilderness. Nature's silence is not empty; it is filled with whispers that echo the secrets of the untamed world around us. The symbiotic relationship between the human soul and the wild offers an opportunity to unravel these hidden mysteries.

The Symphony of Silence

Within the wilderness, silence is not a void but a symphony. It is the rustle of leaves, the gentle lapping of a stream, and the distant call of a bird. Each sound carries with it a story, a lesson from the natural world that speaks in the language of wind and water. The stillness is a canvas upon which nature paints its wisdom.

Lessons in Patience

Nature's rhythm is slow, deliberate, and unfazed by the hurried pace of human existence. The wilderness teaches us patience—a virtue often lost in the constant buzz of modern life. Observe the growth of a tree, the formation of a riverbank, and the unfolding of a flower; these are lessons in enduring grace.

The Art of Adaptation

Survival in the wilderness requires adaptation. The flora and fauna seamlessly adjust to the changing seasons and the unpredictable challenges of their environment. As we immerse ourselves in nature's silence, we learn to be resilient, to adapt to life's uncertainties with the same grace as a tree bending in the wind.

Unveiling the Invisible Connections

Beneath the surface of the wilderness lies a complex web of interconnected relationships. Plants, animals, and microorganisms collaborate in a dance of life. In the silence of nature, we discover the subtle threads that bind us to the world around us. Understanding these connections fosters a deep sense of responsibility for the delicate balance of the ecosystem.

Mindful Reflections

Nature's silence provides a space for introspection and self-discovery. Away from the distractions of the digital realm, we can reflect on our own place in the grand tapestry of existence. The whispers of the wilderness encourage mindfulness, inviting us to be fully present in each moment.

Cultivating a Conservation Ethic

As we listen to the whispers of the wilderness, a sense of stewardship arises. The recognition of nature's intrinsic value inspires a commitment to conservation. Through sustainable practices and a deep respect for the environment, we become custodians of the secrets hidden in the heart of the wilderness.

In the embrace of nature's silence, we find not only solace but a profound connection to the untamed world. The whispers of the wilderness carry the essence of life's mysteries, inviting us to explore, learn, and protect the sanctity of the natural world. In this sacred space, the secrets hidden in nature's silence unfold, revealing a timeless wisdom that transcends the noise of our daily lives.

#nature

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notmuchtoconceal · 2 years ago

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( o ) goodimpressionofmyself

air currents

tracing the topography of his body

so unlike the heat and moisture he had known. a sense of stillness. serenity divorced from violence. motion separate from the matter of his muscle. silence. song. something there, inside, waking in the newly stirring still

i was…

teeth clenching. the air now sharp inside his throat

don’t… don’t…

posture upright, the ridges of his traps remain supported by the constriction of his base layer. the band of his jock holds firm at the foundation of his core

why am i…

through the membrane, he could see the machinery of his hand, pink and splotched with red. a sprawl of wrinkles sat spider vein where the leather had been. honeycombed with gashes from the cleats of rival cities, the rods swelled up through the skin with each clench of his finger

movement

there’s…

movement

the bulge stood out amongst the frost-flesh climbing his arm. the chafe, puckering and raw, crossed the valley of his elbow, eye-vein red in the mire of his armpit. coming worse now, a rupture was building in the recess where his straps had sat. indentations in the dermis cut nearly to the bone

is it… is it…

free…

the vacuum seal had broken. the air was going out. a hiss of oxide and corroded rubber, mingling with vapors of the biosphere. standing strong. the sting of the sea wind. mineral shrapnel tearing at his biceps

will…

my…

will…

and he was aware of pain again

it seemed so natural in the moment. sliding off the pads. slipping out of his jersey. motion tied to idle talk as he blanked out on the sideline and forgot for a moment the weight like the conchiolin of a snail’s shell. forgot the covenant into which he himself had signed. forgot that he was no longer a free man

no longer…

manatee

hue manatee

color of the sea sloth, grey lard of the shallows

the yellow fat speared on strips of pink flesh, swarmed with a flock of gulls, the laughter of children echoing with the roll of the waves

the oil in his pores congealed into mucus. down every downy hair along the girth of his arm, beads of pearl coalesce, drip and flow. the pads are a part of his body now. an outcropping of the structure of the shoulder girdle where hard plastic welts to bone. festooned with a network of polymer capillaries, fine enough to tear in the line of scrimmage, the shine of his game day jersey pinpricks deposits of his fat layer. he can no more remove his gear than he can peel off his own skin, or unclasp his skull from the notch of the atlas vertebrae

heart rate escalation detected

helix OS online

regenerative function initiated

engaging hostform paralysis

the cup adhered to his groin. the girdle to his quads. the lace of his uniform pants to the pockets of the girdle. herein lies a viable ecosystem thriving in primate mucin. colonies of microorganisms in the blisters of his thigh promote rapid increases in hypertrophy, vascularity, bone density and strength, centralized around the horselike distension of his massive glutes. if he could still move his arms, still dig his fingers into the lycra tight around his abs, his veins would bulge and his teeth would grit as he pulled the material up inch by inch to expose pink-grey tendrils of the substance welding him to completion

psychograph signal down

re-running start-up protocol

amorphous foam in the perimeter of his skull. the metallic sweetness of stale aspartame

the weight of a shadow. troops marching toward a river of tar in gasoline colored dawn. battered by the summer wind, bloody light rippled silken through the bars. green leaves fell in mortar bursts as spirits swelled with the anthem

i pochi che danno tutto

riceveranno tutto

warhawks streak across the steel sky. the prows of battleships standing obelisks in the end zone. hands heavenward through water welling in his eyes, veins bulge along the knuckle. the horizon. a divided circle. trident above, three harpoons below, bound by the bony faces of the sea snakes. rows of teeth bare in dominance displays. hand flat to the pins of his chest, an amphetamine rush hit him head rolled back with the roar of the crowd. throbbing out the black blood, needles of its maw broke off in the meddle of his heart

did he not aspire to join the league?

for as long as he could remember, he knew other players in that distant before-period. the pre-brothers he kept back when he was a larva. they roared in the alleyways and whispered in derelict cellars about the highest level of the game known to man. played by not-men. organisms built like tanks. the pure algebraic efficiency of bodies which do not hesitate, which do not feel pain

a retinal scan. fingerprint on file. voice and facial plane recorded. muscular and skeletal systems pixels on a screen. the machinery of the cheek blurred by the bit rot of arterial webbing

the tile stretching out toward the pool. his new brothers sat encased in the amber resin as globules of liquid light washed over their eyes. sticky inside the hot. honey between their fingers, honeycombs against their spines. beckoning deeper. statements of absolute truth. reminders of the promises they made. helmets bolted. shoulders bolted. genital stimulation through the pouches of the jockstraps as the seepage of sweat and writhing cut reservoirs in their prisons by millimeters over the course of the hours it took to break them down

you are a candidate. you know what you must do. the purpose of a candidate is to endure the conversion process. there is no way out. no chance of ever going back. your life no longer belongs to you

an epilepsy of needles hovers nano-meters above the eye. chromatin within the film branching into roots like the veins through tunnels of the iris

this fear is a moment of weakness. the death spasm of the animal mind

we will make you strong. we will make you brave. embrace the liberation of confinement. the honor inherent in total abnegation before the law

you are not the thoughts you think. you are not the clothes you wear. you are not the seed that sired you. you are the void and cloudless sky ready to strike the earth with a bolt of thunder. you are the sea at once still and full of wrath. you are the levees which hold the outside at bay

embrace this transformation which has already begun; become what you know you have always needed to become

the draft seeping in, slack against the skin. the grip of this yellow jadeite in glucose no longer all consuming, and that narrow release, that minuscule taste of freedom, registering so bitterly on sensitized palates

you are strong now. you are brave now. you belong to a tradition stretching back countless generations. a lineage who have cast off the veil which obscures the sight of the grazing herds. you are more than you could have ever been alone

you are a candidate. you applied for candidacy status of your own volition. only a candidate would voluntarily submit to the conversion already in progress. you wouldn’t be here if you wanted to be manatee

breathing in the hothouse air, the bacterial stench of the aquarium, he lay himself down in the muck, and submitted to the terminal stage of his programming. the cold metal around his arm, strands of gastropod DNA shot into his cells. through fractals in which he saw coral, algae and the conch, filaments of a phosphorescent anemone ran through blood in ultraviolet light

he decided, with no threat of external coercion, that he was to live a life where he was to be nothing but football, only football. hallowed of the doubt, fatigue, and distraction which constituted his own individual will, and reconstituted with the serenity of absolute obedience which lies at the threshold of non-existence. for the good of the game. for the good of the nation. for the good of himself. converted, of his own volition, into a member of the warrior class. one of the privileged few. a non-autonomous football playing biodroid

credere, obbedire, combattere

un nuovo brobdingnag per mille anni

the stadium fish eyes. tinnitus hums in the roar of the crowd

there’s something about game day. something about the connections between people. fathers and sons. friends and brothers. the cuddle fish eyes of boys who want to be like him. who will one day make the commitment to be like him. boys who can this day leave the stadium and return to private rooms, full of private thoughts and private loves. the vista of a metal funnel. something creaking in the deadbolts. effigies in a TV antenna. rust to rust, blood to blood. old wounds ache in the soft and wet. pain tied to nothing. nothing tied to something. not the pain of a torn ligament, or the crack of a battered skull. not the strain of a body falling apart and held together with milky secretions. not the fatty cuts inside his skull pan-seared and crusted, but a melancholy void without words

i am

i was

and when he felt the hand on his shoulder, he was aware of how the heat of his cheeks, the shame of his nakedness, had protected him from the chill of the wind

you shouldn’t have taken off that helmet, boy. how many times i gotta tell you. that visor’s your face now

you don’t have a name. you don’t have a family. you don’t have any thoughts or personality of your own. you gave that up when you joined the game

you can’t talk wearing your mouth-guard. nobody can see you locked up behind that grill. you’re barely even human-shaped under all that gear. far all practical considerations, you’re canned meat now

i don’t want any salt on my escargot. don’t go tryin to remember who you used to be anymore. you got that, #22?

matter in the muscle of a hand. weight in the tension of an eye

un nuovo brobdingnag

un. nuovo. brodbingnag

a magnetic current holds his body to this man. this was something intrinsic to all true patriots. the field of animal magnetism which held all participants of the game to the coach, to each other, and to the whole of the spectator class

separate, they were weak. droplets of water on hot concrete, always one moment from evaporation. together, they composed an unstoppable force. became a tide whose forward momentum could obliterate the cities of foreign shores

will was what bound him. will was what united him with his brothers. not his will, but the communal will they had been gifted. the greater whole. a united circle. another cog in the machinery of the game. another cog. another cog. another cog. another cog. another cog. another cog. another

#22 complies. it will return to the equipment shed to reconfigure

suit up, boy

#aesthetics of fascism #football only football #gear gear gear #normal boy stuff #poetry of motion #warrior poet

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babymetaldoll · 4 years ago

Text

Getting down the germs (Spencer Reid/Reader)

Prompt: What if germs haven’t been discovered?

Summary: Spencer and Reader analyze a world where germs don’t exist, and how Reid’s life would be like...

Category: Fluff

Content Warning: none

Pairing: Spencer/Reader

Word count: 1.6K

Masterlist

- “I wonder how your life would be if germs had never been discovered”- (Y/N) thought out loud and gazed at Spencer, smiling playfully. They were waiting for their lunch in a small cafeteria they liked to go to whenever they had a slow paperwork day at the BAU. It felt almost unreal to be sharing a meal not thinking there was an unsub to catch in the next hour.

He hesitated for a second before answering. He was caught off guard by her smile, and for a second he forgot he could speak, words piling up in his tongue, not making his way from his lips. She made his brain turn into mush, that was a fact.

- “I don't understand how germs could never be discovered”- Spencer murmured a few seconds later.

Of all the answers he had in mind, which mostly referred to an endless amount of data and facts about germs, those words were the best he managed to say. (Y/N)'s smile had completely wiped off every functional brain cell he had.

- “Well, imagine all the things people haven't discovered yet”- she simply replied, and took a sip of her lemonade. Just like that, Spencer was left speechless.

All the things people haven't discovered yet. That was interesting, but though it was a thought Spencer could lose himself in for days and maybe weeks, at that minute all he could concentrate on was all the things he hadn't discovered yet, such as the taste of (Y/N)'s lips. Or how her warm skin could feel against his hand when he finally first touched her. He hadn't discovered how it would be to hold her hand. Just as simple as that. He lived in a world where germs existed, but all his dreams were a "what if".

- “That's overwhelming”- Spencer whispered, answering to (Y/N)'s earlier comment, and then looked down.

- “Would you shake people's hand if germs hadn't been discovered?”- his best friend asked, and her eyes didn't leave his. She felt how her whole body shook, staring at Spencer, but she couldn't stop doing it anyway. She didn't want to either, but it felt physically impossible to take her eyes from his. He was a magnet she couldn't move apart from.

It had been that way since day one, when the two of them started at the BAU, five years ago. They were both extremely young to be part of the elite of the FBI, but their abilities had put them where they belong. A few weeks into the job and Reid had finally managed to talk to her without stuttering. He wasn't good with people, especially with women. Least with a woman he found attractive. (Y/N) had no idea how to approach someone like Spencer. He had an IQ of 187, the guy could read 20.000 words per minute. She was dumb compared to him in any possible way. There was no way he could even notice her, so she did what anyone would do: she fell into the friendzone and stayed there for the next five years.

She was the girl he took to the museums every weekend, and he was the friend she crawled to random geek conventions. She loved to be there for him, even when it meant she was his best friend. (Y/N) knew Spencer had a thing for JJ when they first joined the BAU, they even were out on a date, but nothing came from it. It didn't matter to her anyway, she could see how Spencer looked at JJ, he never had those longing eyes when he talked to her. It was clear, she was just his best friend and JJ the object of his desires.

- “I don't know... I guess...”- Reid answered and (Y/N) nodded. Their food arrived and the two of them focused on their dishes for a few seconds. Silence fell between them, but it wasn’t awkward. It never was. They were perfectly comfortable in each other's company, being quiet wasn't something to worry about. They could perfectly spend a whole weekend in silence, reading, or watching movies.

Those were Spencer's favorite weekends, 'cos he didn't have to make his best effort to answer in a normal voice and like a normal human being each time (Y/N) talked to him.

Though he had managed to control himself and act normal when they were alone, inside Reid’s head there was in a deep and constant struggle. He knew he loved her. More than that: he was in love with her. And that was enough reason for him to act silly from time to time. Ok, all the time. He could ramble for hours when he talked to her, and it was worst 'cos she never cut him off, which meant he literally could go on, and on, and never shut up.

He was scared one day he could ramble for so long, he could end up telling her his true feelings. But he knew he was never going to have the guts to do it.

- “Why do germs freak you out so much?”- (Y/N) stopped eating. She was halfway into her salad, but she wasn't really enjoying it. The dressing wasn't real good. Besides, Spencer had gotten her a red velvet cupcake for breakfast, which had spoiled her appetite for the rest of the day.

- “We're estimated to have around 1,500 bacteria living on each square centimeter of skin on our hands, and although viruses don't set up shop on the skin the way bacteria do, the viruses that cause diarrhea and respiratory infections can hang around on the hands long enough to spread from person to person”

And Spencer hid behind what makes him feel secure the most: facts

- “It states that microorganisms known as pathogens or "germs" can lead to disease, they invade humans...”

- “But honey”- it gave him goosebumps each time (Y/N) called him that- “If you don't get sick from time to time, your immune system is gonna be as weak as the taste of this dressing.”

"Honey". It was just too sweet, too cute, too... endearing for him to handle. No one had ever called him a pet name before. Not her mother, not... anyone. Sure, JJ called him "Spence" from time to time, and some of her friends caught it as a BAU nickname, but it was nothing like being called "honey" by (Y/N). No, that was different. And when she used the whole "Honey bunny" surname to refer to him, he swore anyone could see him melt.

- “What if germs were the coolest thing on earth? and everybody was trying to get them?”- Spencer narrowed his eyes and made his best not to laugh. She was rambling on their way back to work, and for once he was glad to be the one listening to someone else rattle on.

- “What is it with you and germs today?”- he simply asked and chuckled lightly. He was happy that day. And he wanted to enjoy it before a case darkened his mind.

- “I don't know”- (Y/N) shrugged and smiled at him- “I guess I'm just... curious what is it with you and germs”

- “I just hate them”- Spencer answered looking at her, licking her ice cream- “You didn't finish your greens at lunch, you didn't earn that dessert”- he teased and she grinned

- “Want some?”- her words seemed to play with his mind, and make his cheek blush right away. He did, he wanted some. He wanted some so badly it ached him. So he didn't answer.

- “You didn't seem to be scared of Lila Archer's germs... we all saw you sharing your straw with her, among other things...”

- “(Y/N), that's...”- but he is flustered and his friend won't stop teasing him for it.

- “I don't have the cooties, but I know that won't make the difference 'cos she was half-naked and you were...”

And he snapped. He grabbed the ice cream cone from her hand and licked it all. His tongue traveled through every inch of sweet, tasting it and looking into (Y/N)'s eyes as he did. He had no idea what he was doing to her. She was having trouble keeping her thoughts in order, she had to remember they were on the street and that he was just her best friend in the world to stop herself from throwing herself to him.

Spencer had enough of the Lila teasing. It wasn't just this time, it has been years of listening to the same thing, over and over again. For a moment or two, he was almost sure (Y/N) was jealous, but after a few seconds, he remembered she was just his best friend having fun with him. That was it. So he grabbed the ice cream cone and lick it. It was his way to tell her he didn't care about her germs. In fact, he wanted to have her germs on him if it mean he could kiss her.

- “There! see? now we have the same cooties! end of the story”

(Y/N) held her ice cream cone again and licked it. Her best friend kept looking at her with the corner of his eyes.

- “So... germs exist, but you don't care about mine?”- she whispered after a few minutes. Her voice was almost untraceable, but Spencer knew that tone.

- “Germs exist and I hate them”- he explained and kept looking ahead- “But yours are ok...”

- “Oh...”- (Y/N) nodded and bit her lips, trying her best not to smile.

- “I mean... we've probably already shared them all, we've been friends for years, we can't keep track of everything we've done”

He can, he does. He knows. (Y/N) nodded her head again and continued eating her ice cream in silence until they reach the BAU again.

- “So my germs are ok then...”- she whispered and elbowed him as they waited for the elevator. Spencer chuckled looking down.

- “Yeah, your germs are alright.”

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfictions #spencer reid fanfics #criminal minds #one shots #matthew gray gubler #matthew gray gubler fanfictions #spencer reid fluff #matthew gray gubler fluff #spencer reid imagines #spencer x reader #doctor reid #babymetaldoll writes

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myheartjamie-claire · 5 years ago

Text

✨

📚Excerpt From

The Fiery Cross, Ch 36

Diana Gabaldon📚

•

“What are ye doing, Sassenach?” Jamie, with a piece of toast in one hand, paused in the doorway.

“Seeing things,” I said, adjusting the focus.

“Oh, aye? What sorts of things?” He came into the room, smiling. “Not ghosties, I trust. I will have had enough o’ those.”

“Come look,” I said, stepping back from the microscope. Mildly puzzled, he bent and peered through the eyepiece, screwing up his other eye in concentration.

He squinted for a moment, then gave an exclamation of pleased surprise.

“I see them! Wee things with tails, swimming all about!” He straightened up, smiling at me with a look of delight, then bent at once to look again.

I felt a warm glow of pride in my new toy.

“Isn’t it marvelous?”

“Aye, marvelous,” he said, absorbed. “Look at them. Such busy wee strivers as they are, all pushing and writhing against one another—and such a mass of them!”

He watched for a few moments more, exclaiming under his breath, then straightened up, shaking his head in amazement.

“I’ve never seen such a thing, Sassenach. Ye’d told me about the germs, aye, but I never in life imagined them so! I thought they might have wee teeth, and they don’t—but I never kent they would have such handsome, lashing wee tails, or swim about in such numbers.”

“Well, some microorganisms do,” I said, moving to peer into the eyepiece again myself. “These particular little beasts aren’t germs, though—they’re sperms.”

“They’re what?”

He looked quite blank.

“Sperms,” I said patiently. “Male reproductive cells. You know, what makes babies?”

I thought he might just possibly choke. His mouth opened, and a very pretty shade of rose suffused his countenance.

“Ye mean seed?” he croaked. “Spunk?”

“Well . . . yes.” Watching him narrowly, I poured steaming tea into a clean beaker and handed it to him as a restorative. He ignored it, though, his eyes fixed on the microscope as though something might spring out of the eyepiece at any moment and go writhing across the floor at our feet.

“Sperms,” he muttered to himself.

“Sperms.” He shook his head vigorously, then turned to me, a frightful thought having just occurred to him.

“Whose are they?” he asked, his tone one of darkest suspicion.

“Er . . . well, yours, of course.” I cleared my throat, mildly embarrassed. “Who else’s would they be?”

His hand darted reflexively between his legs, and he clutched himself protectively.

“How the hell did ye get them?”

“How do you think?” I said, rather coldly. “I woke up in custody of them this morning.”

His hand relaxed, but a deep blush of mortification stained his cheeks dark crimson. He picked up the beaker of tea and drained it at a gulp, temperature notwithstanding.

“I see,” he said, and coughed.

There was a moment of deep silence.

“I . . . um . . . didna ken they could stay alive,” he said at last. “Errrrm . . . outside, I mean.”

“Well, if you leave them in a splotch on the sheet to dry out, they don’t,” I said, matter-of-factly. “Keep them from drying out, though”—I gestured at the small, covered beaker, with its small puddle of whitish fluid—“and they’ll do for a few hours. In their proper habitat, though, they can live for up to a week after . . . er . . . release.”

“Proper habitat,” he repeated, looking pensive. He darted a quick glance at me. “Ye do mean—”

“I do,” I said, with some asperity.

“Mmphm.” At this point, he recalled the piece of toast he still held, and took a bite, chewing meditatively.

“Do folk know about this? Now, I mean?”

“Know what? What sperm look like? Almost certainly. Microscopes have been around for well over a hundred years, and the first thing anyone with a working microscope does is to look at everything within reach. Given that the inventor of the microscope was a man, I should certainly think that . . . Don’t you?”

He gave me a look, and took another bite of toast, chewing in a marked manner.

“I shouldna quite like to refer to it as ‘within reach,’ Sassenach,” he said, through a mouthful of crumbs, and swallowed. “But I do take your meaning.”

As though compelled by some irresistible force, he drifted toward the microscope, bending to peer into it once more.

“They seem verra fierce,” he ventured, after a few moments’ inspection.

“Well, they do need to be,” I said, suppressing a smile at his faintly abashed air of pride in his gametes’ prowess. “It’s a long slog, after all, and a terrific fight at the end of it. Only one gets the honor, you know.”

He looked up, blank-faced. It dawned on me that he didn’t know. He’d studied languages, mathematics, and Greek and Latin philosophy in Paris, not medicine. And even if natural scientists of the time were aware of sperm as separate entities, rather than a homogenous substance, it occurred to me that they probably didn’t have any idea what sperm actually did.

“Wherever did you think babies came from?” I demanded, after a certain amount of enlightenment regarding eggs, sperms, zygotes, and the like, which left Jamie distinctly squiggle-eyed. He gave me a rather cold look.

“And me a farmer all my life? I ken precisely where they come from,” he informed me. “I just didna ken that . . . er . . . that all of this daffery was going on. I thought . . . well, I thought a man plants his seed into a woman’s belly, and it . . . well . . . grows.” He waved vaguely in the direction of my stomach. “You know—like . . . seed. Neeps, corn, melons, and the like. I didna ken they swim about like tadpoles.”

“I see.” I rubbed a finger beneath my nose, trying not to laugh. “Hence the agricultural designation of women as being either fertile or barren!”

“Mmphm.” Dismissing this with a wave of his hand, he frowned thoughtfully at the teeming slide.

“A week, ye said. So it’s possible that the wee lad really is the Thrush’s get?”

Early in the day as it was, it took half a second or so for me to make the leap from theory to practical application.

“Oh—Jemmy, you mean? Yes, it’s quite possible that he’s Roger’s child.” Roger and Bonnet had lain with Brianna within two days of each other. “I told you—and Bree—so.”

He nodded, looking abstracted, then remembered the toast and pushed the rest of it into his mouth.

Chewing, he bent for another look through the eyepiece.

“Are they different, then? One man’s from another, I mean?”

“Er . . . not to look at, no.” I picked up my cup of tea and had a sip, enjoying the delicate flavor. “They are different, of course—they carry the characteristics a man passes to his offspring. . . .” That was about as far as I thought it prudent to go; he was sufficiently staggered by my description of fertilization; an explanation of genes and chromosomes might be rather excessive at the moment. “But you can’t see the differences, even with a microscope.”

He grunted at that, swallowed the mouthful of toast, and straightened up.

“Why are ye looking, then?”

“Just curiosity.” I gestured at the collection of bottles and beakers on the countertop. “I wanted to see how fine the resolution of the microscope was, what sorts of things I might be able to see.”

“Oh, aye? And what then? What’s the purpose of it, I mean?”

“Well, to help me diagnose things. If I can take a sample of a person’s stool, for instance, and see that he has internal parasites, then I’d know better what medicine to give him.”

Jamie looked as though he would have preferred not to hear about such things right after breakfast, but nodded. He drained his beaker and set it down on the counter.

“Aye, that’s sensible. I’ll leave ye to get on with it, then.”

He bent and kissed me briefly, then headed for the door. Just short of it, though, he turned back.

“The, um, sperms . . .” he said, a little awkwardly.

“Yes?”

“Can ye not take them out and give them decent burial or something?”

I hid a smile in my teacup.

“I’ll take good care of them,” I promised. “I always do, don’t I?” 📚

#caitriona balfe #sam heughan #jamie fraser #outlander #claire fraser #diana gabaldon #droughtlander #james fraser #voyager #dragonfly in amber #sassenach #bookish #bibliophile #diana gabaldon books #the fiery cross

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goatbi · 4 years ago

Note

Babe i demand more gordon bubby momence in the mer au actually . when ur not busy KFJDKDJ (have i sent one like this already. I feel like i might have i just think it's fun 2 see these two get close :])

“God fucking dammit.” Bubby muttered, the light from his lure suddenly going dark as he covered in, crossing his arms and pouting. So, maybe, he wasn’t the best at hunting fish. It had really only been a few weeks since he made the shift, and he had just gotten used to the swimming part of it, much to Benrey’s enjoyment.

Humans swam with their arms, okay? So Bubby had to get used to being able to only use his tail-which was an adjustment all on it’s own-to move through the water. At first, it put him squarely in the same category of movement as Forzen, who really... didn’t. It took nearly a week, at least after the pain of the shift from human to mer wore off, for him to be able to move up a bit, more of just a weak swimmer, rather than nearly unable at all.

And that stung his pride a bit. Bubby was willing to admit to that, at least to himself. So, of course, he made a stupid decision, which led to him having decided the next thing he was gonna eat, he was going to get himself.

That was yesterday.

To say there was a learning curve here would be an understatement. Bubby first had spent time trying to figure out how his light worked, how to cover it when he didn’t need it, and, once he had figured that out, he figured the rest would come easy enough, like all the random instinctual things that did come with the shift. None of which he expected to be things, like the fins on his arms and back flaring or flattening with emotions, and god, wasn’t that just a bitch? That people could see when he was upset?

Sure it helped in the long run, but Bubby was still stuck in the mindset of ‘hide your emotions, no one actually cares’ so it was a bit embarrassing at the very least.

As was this. This inability to do something that every single one of the group, even Forzen, had made look so simple. To be fair to him, Forzen ate microorganisms, so it wasn’t like he was having trouble. Everyone else? Made it look so easy. They all had their things though, their own tactics, and, as much as Bubby wished he could figure this out easier, it just... wasn’t working.

He wasn’t fast enough, or the fish he was trying to nab were too fast, or-

“Bubby?” He flipped around in the water, getting him off kilter for a moment, fins flared, teeth bared for a split second in surprise, before relaxing again just as quickly when he was it was Gordon. He glanced towards Gordon’s tail for Joshua, as he usually would, but didn’t see the blob fish around, and thus kept his light covered. Joshua loved the damn thing, which was fine, if only that helped him hunt at all.

It took him a second to realize that Gordon had continued that statement, that the words had not ended with just his name, and Bubby blinked at him, trying to pretend that, no, his own inadequacy with the life he chose wasn’t bothering him. They had had this conversation before, after all, and really, it was only a matter of time before they got annoyed with him. “What was that?”

“Coomer said that he hadn’t seen you eat today.” Gordon was holding something, and Bubby, despite being hungry, felt that overshadowed with despair. Of course they noticed. Of course they didn’t think he could handle himself. Whatever hunger he might have felt disappeared in that moment, just leaving him feeling nauseous.

“Not hungry.” Which, now, was the truth. He turned away from Gordon, trying to keep the presence of mind to keep his fins tucked up against himself, but even then, Gordon seemed to know. Not to mention that he was faster than Bubby, probably always would be, even when Bubby managed to get stronger. So, despite the obvious dismissal and escape attempt, Gordon followed, but didn’t cut him off, instead keeping time with him as Bubby moved to go back to his den, shared with Harold, of course, but at least it held some level of privacy.

“I’m pretty sure that’s a lie, Bubby.” A quick glance towards his arms showed he had failed his mission of keeping them unmoving, and Bubby huffed a sigh, flicking his tail a little harder than before, propelling himself a bit further than Gordon. There was a hint there, to just drop the conversation, but Gordon either didn’t notice it, or purposefully ignored it. Probably the second one, if Bubby understood anything about Gordon at this point. Bastard didn’t drop anything.

Harold said it connected to Gordon seeing himself as the leader of the school, protector if nothing else. Bubby saw it as annoying during these times, when he just wanted to be left alone to brood over his own failures. He didn’t answer Gordon, of course. It wasn’t needed. Gordon knew he was lying, and any other attempts would only make it more obvious to him. Bubby couldn’t lie well to this group, despite his years of lying to Black Mesa.

Somehow they just... saw right through him.

Bubby liked to think that had something to do with Black Mesa, that they couldn’t see the obvious right in front of them.

Still. Would have been helpful if he could lie to them at all.

“Come on, Bubby, you need to eat. You can’t just waste away.” With that, Bubby huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. It was a bit unstable, as he hadn’t gotten used to moving them in motion and not titling one way or the other-which apparently was something he needed to work on. Which was stupid-so he did tilt just a bit. He managed to right himself, however, still keeping his arms over his chest.

“And I will. I’m not just gonna starve myself, it’s a painful way to die.” Gordon didn’t comment on how Bubby knew that.

“Then eat.” Gordon held out a fish, and Bubby just got angry. It was stupid, Gordon was just trying to help him, and yet, Bubby couldn’t help but feel like... they were babying him. And while, yes, he couldn’t take good care of himself at the moment, proven by his failed hunting attempt that Gordon had stumbled upon, it still stung. He was an adult. He should be able to do this.

“Fuck off, Gordon.” He snarled, rather than voice any of that. He couldn’t get away from Gordon, Bubby knew that far too well, but still could out maneuver him, if just barely, and thus, ducked up Gordon’s tail, and, when Gordon turned to follow, flipped above him, and continued on, fast as he could, for as long as he could.

Which was long. His tail already hurt. Still, he was able to have a few moments of peace before Gordon managed to untangle himself and follow. “Bubby!”

“I said fuck off!” And Bubby was yanked to a stop, pulled back to Gordon by his tail. He snarled at him, flicking it out of Gordon’s grasp, which meant he must have dropped the fish to do so. So Gordon was more worried about his anger than food. Good. If Bubby could just get back to the den, it would be fine. Gordon couldn’t keep bothering him if he was hidden in there.

Harold could. But that was a risk Bubby was willing to take.

“What is your issue dude?” Bubby refused to answer, eyes darting around as he tried to figure a way to dodge around Gordon this time. Gordon must have seen it, known what was coming, as he grabbed one of Bubby’s elbows, keeping him there. Bubby bared his teeth at him, but Gordon just did it back, and Bubby, on pure instinct, shrunk back, eyes darting away from him.

Gordon didn’t like being seen as scary. There were very few exceptions to this rule, and even fewer when he made himself scary to them. The only conclusion that Bubby could draw was that he had pissed off Gordon, and sure, that was going to happen, but must have seriously pissed him off. It wasn’t his goal. God, he just fucked this all up didn’t he?”

“Bubby.” He kept his eyes pointed away, frowning. Gordon sighed softly. “Listen. I get it, you’re struggling, but you have to let us help you-”

“It’s not fucking helping.” Bubby tugged at his arm, but didn’t yank it away, Gordon’s claws a bit too dangerous for him to do that. “You’re babying me, that’s what you’re fucking doing. I get that I’m, I’m new? To all of this? But that doesn’t mean that I’m not a fully grown man. I don’t like having to sit there and watch everyone else be able to take care of themselves, and instead of helping me, or, or teaching me, you just act like I’ll never be able to do it.” Gordon’s hand slipped off of Bubby’s arm in shock, and he flipped in the water, making one last dive towards the den.

This time, Gordon didn’t stop him.

-------------------------------------------------

Bubby didn’t try again the next day. He let Harold bring him food, ate it despite the fact that he felt sick, and smiled, as Harold beamed. He didn’t leave the den, however. He just... wasn’t feeling up to it. Bubby knew that it would worry them more, but Harold could report he was fine.

At least, when Harold peeked in to see him, he acted fine.

Harold was sleeping, when Bubby wiggled free from his grasp, and swam out. He knew, from their schedule, they would be asleep, giving him ample time to try again. After all, there was still no progress to people teaching him anything. He had to figure it out himself.

Behind him, as he struggled his way through the dark waters, a dark shadow followed him through the water.

Bubby settled in a spot, closing his eyes, the light flicking on. He had kept it covered for the past day, and it was half a relief to free it again, letting it shine through the dark water, but not enough. He had learned before his face was just out of the light, that it was long enough that they couldn’t see him in the light.

And he waited.

Despite what it seemed, Bubby was very good at being patient. He had spent a good long while sitting in his tube silently, watching and waiting for scientists to surround him, poke at him and hurt him. He was very good at sitting in silence, waiting and watching. This hunting style fit him rather well, waiting for fish to come into the light, around him.

It was a near unnatural stillness for a living creature, but Bubby was a statue, and, if anyone looked at him, his breathing was the only thing that signified his living status.

The only problem with that, is when he moved, no matter how slowly, whatever gathered around him jerked back, and fled. He growled softly, then shifted slightly, popping his arms and moving back to settle in his position, when a dark shape caught his eye. Fins flared for a moment, before they went flat, and he bared his teeth at Gordon. “What.”

“You’re giving them a chance to get away. You need to be fast about it. If you move, they’ll flee.” Bubby stared at him quietly, before sighing, shaking his head a bit, light jerking around, and Gordon shifted back, flipping through the water away from Bubby, until he was once again just a dark shadow in the corner of Bubby’s vision, and he went still once more, quiet.

As soon as there was another fish slipping through to his light, Bubby snatched at it, managing to get a hand around it, claws sinking underneath it’s scales, and it twitched in his hand in dying throes as Bubby stared at it in shock.

He... hadn’t expected that to work. Not completely. He blinked a few times, then looked towards the dark shadow that was Gordon, and his light was covered again, letting his eyes readjust to the dark, and saw Gordon grinning.

It wasn’t... the best. Bubby was already used to eating raw food, another thing no one asked about, so when he did eat it, he didn’t shudder at the feeling of it like they had expected the first time when he ate raw fish. Again. Not the best, but even then. He had done it himself this time.

Gordon led him back. Bubby was quiet the entire time, as he followed, frowning to himself. Gordon knew he came out of the den to do this, to try, and Bubby sighed lowly, shaking his head. They stopped outside the den, and, when Bubby went to duck in, Gordon stopped him.

“When I first lost my arm, I had to relearn how to hunt. I don’t know why I didn’t realize what this was. They did the same thing to me, rather than teach me, and I did the same thing you did, run off to try and learn myself. It doesn’t help that I didn’t realize, but... if you need help, I’m here.”

Bubby sighed softly, then, before talking himself out of it, ducked into Gordon’s chest, hugging him carefully, before ducking away from him and ducking into the den quietly, curling up against Harold’s side. There was a moment, where Gordon’s shadow stayed floating outside, before he turned, disappearing into the water.

#hlvrai #half life vr but the ai is self aware #hlvrai mermaid au #bubby #gordon freeman hlvrai #Feelings In Various Ways

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